


Codename: Ultraviolet

by Miratete



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Crossdressing, Femme Fatale, Multi, Secret Identity, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miratete/pseuds/Miratete
Summary: -o-o-o-o-o-It will take more than experience and daring for Jazz's latest mission.  He's to steal Shockwave's space-bridge plans from one of the most heavily guarded places on Cybertron--Shockwave's laboratories.  Ratchet and company fix him up with a disguise not even his own carrier would recognize him in.  He's been reframed as a femme in order to blend in with Elita One's team, and let's just say everyone's enjoying the new guise.-o-o-o-o-o-Chapter 15 posted! "Acid Storm x Jazz".   The ordeal isn't over yet.  But Ion Storm proves to be a much gentler mech in his treatment of Jazz.-o-o-o-o-o-





	1. The Mission

Jazz was summoned into the meeting room just outside of central ops. On entering he was surprised to find that apparently a meeting had been in session for quite some time before he'd even been called. Optimus, Prowl, Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Ratchet were already there. Half-empty energon cubes sat about the table. The fact that he'd not been included was surprising. Even more surprising was that Elita-One was linked in as well, attending remotely via one of the viewscreens. After perfunctory greetings Jazz took his spot and addressed the issue right away. “So what's up, Prime?”

“Jazz, we have a special mission for you,” was the answer.

“Oh?” Jazz asked. Missions were good, but that they'd not included him in on the preliminary planning stage made him wonder. 

“We've decided to attempt the construction of our own spacebridge.”

“Well that would be nice,” grinned the saboteur. “But forgive me for asking, myself not being one of the sciency sorts, but as far as we know we don't possess the technology. And Shockwave had four million years to design and build theirs.”

“Correct,” Perceptor piped up. “We estimate that he spent several thousand vorns on the research and design, and as much on the prototypes.”

“But now that the technology has been tweaked and perfected, a bridge can be constructed in less than a meta-cycle,” Wheeljack continued.

Jazz tilted his head. “I doubt the cyclops is about to share his masterwork though.”

“That's where you come in,” said Optimus, turning to the black and white agent. “It will be your job to get that technology into our possession.

“Ya' want me to sneak in and 'borrow' a few of his files?” There wasn't any enthusiasm in his tone though. “Unless that place has changed any in the past few million years, getting in and out is nearly impossible. Shockwave's laboratories were the best guarded of all of Megatron's facilities. The control center, no. But the laboratories...”

“As we know,” said Prowl.

Jazz caught the tactician's teensy smirk. “So what secret entrance have you found for me?” he asked. He and Prowl had worked together long enough to predict each other's moves and modus operandi.

“Well that's why I come in,” announced Elita-One from her screen. “The guerrilla tactics my team has been using for quite a long time now seems to have lulled Shockwave into a sort of complacency. We have focused on random break-ins to steal supplies and energon, with a bit of sabotage as well. We've not had the power or resources to do much more. Shockwave's mainframe and laboratories have remained untouched. We're confident that his vigilance is down regarding those areas. In fact sometimes our spy cameras have found the doors left wide open.”

“I see,” nodded Jazz, his processor starting to spin out ideas.

Optimus stood. “Our plan is this. You are to be sent to Cybertron to join Elita's forces. A raid will be planned, yourself along on it, and it will fail, leading to the capture of the team. Once the team is placed in the brig, Jazz, you will escape. Preparations will be made to insure you can without being noticed. From there, you will make your way into the laboratories to find and copy the plans. Once you have that, you will return to the brig and rejoin the others, where the team will either escape; or failing that, Elita will negotiate with Shockwave for their release.”

Jazz's head cocked the other direction. “It sounds like an excellent plan, but with one major flaw. I'm going to be pretty obvious as the only mech on an all-femme team. Barring that, Shockwave will surely recognize me as well and know that something's up.”

“My turn,” interjected Ratchet, straightening in his chair.

“This is gonna be good,” Jazz chuckled.

“Oh yes it will.” Ratchet leaned forward onto the conference table. “We will be reframing you.”

“Oh? As a femme?”

Ratchet nodded while Wheeljack, who through most of the meeting had been tapping and scrabbling at an engineer's oversized datapad, held up a frame diagram for a medium sized femme.

“A double disguise. I like it.”

“You'll make a lovely femme, Jazz,” Prowl supplied.

“And after the mission, will I be allowed my own frame again?”

“Of course,” said Optimus.

“Well in that case I think this is going to be a great mission.” He leaned back into his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “When do we start?”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 2: Ratchet x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. Ratchet x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reframing, a Cybertronian is always checked over to see that everything's working correctly. Ratchet's exam goes a little above and beyond.

Ratchet helped Jazz off of the medberth and walked him down the short passage.

“I must say I feel about half a ton lighter, Ratchet,” said the spec-ops agent. “Wow! My voice is a lot lighter too,” he laughed, noting the change in the tone.

“I had to change that too so you'll sound as pretty as you look.”

“Do I look good?” Jazz asked, looking down at himself. The hood of his altmode blocked most of the rest of him from view.

“You make one fine femme, Jazz. Or should I say 'Ultraviolet'? I understand that's to be your code name for this mission.” They came to a door and Ratchet unlocked and opened it. “There aren't any big mirrors in the rest of the med-bay. Just this room, where we do cosmetic repairs,” Ratchet explained as he ushered the smaller Autobot in.

Jazz went straight to the large mirror and stopped before it. “Well hot damn! I do make one fine femme, as you say.” He pushed up his visor, now a glowing purple color, to find the same blue optics beneath, though the faceplate had something of a different shape to the ocular facings, giving his eyes something of a gentler appearance. Dropping the visor he twisted and turned himself to study his new frame. Wheeljack was a brilliant engineer when his processors were on track, and it showed in the beauty and balance of this frame.

Ratchet stood patiently by, checking his various systems with a hand-held scanner.

“Has anyone else seen what I look like? Besides Wheeljack of course.”

“Hoist and 'Aid. Hoist actually gave me quite a bit of help installing all your different systems. Ratchet looked up from the readout on his scanner to notice that Jazz had popped open his modesty panel and was looking at what lay underneath. “In fact he built those parts of you himself.”

Jazz withdrew the small spike and gave it a soft stroke, and then he gingerly ran his finger about the rim of his valve. “Nice colors,” Jazz grinned. His intimate equipment matched the rest of his new chromatic scheme. Dark grey and white were the predominant colors. Some rather feminine swirls and scrollwork in lurid violet and low-shine silver gave the frame a certain exotic touch. On the faceplate, the upper lip was the same violet while the lower lip retained the same color of the faceplate—a Fornaxian style that told him an identity beyond a name had been selected for him.

“You can thank Tracks and Sunstreaker for your new paint. They were insistent on choosing something pretty for you.”

“I like it. They did a nice job.” He closed his interfacing array up again and resumed admiring himself, now paying closer attention to the fine detailing. Sunstreaker's hand was obvious in the design and color-blocking, but it had been tempered by Tracks' love of Earthian patterns.

“They probably put more work into it than necessary, but I suppose it's not every day they get to paint a femme,” Ratchet chuckled. “Now come sit down here. I want to check some of your systems manually.”

Jazz obeyed and sat on the medberth. “I'm sure everything's in working order. You and Wheeljack are the best.”

“Who's the medic?”

Jazz just laughed and let the CMO move his joints and open various panels and listen carefully to the sounds the new frame made. It was obvious that Ratchet was actually enjoying this—he could have passed the task off on one of his subordinates or Wheeljack. But he smiled and went very thoroughly over the lovely frame.

And after a while Ratchet came down to the modesty panel. “Open,” he said lightly.

Jazz did so.

For a moment Ratchet's professional demeanor slipped, knowing Jazz would appreciate the teasing humor. “I'd better make sure you're working up to specs,” he grinned. “Don't worry. I know how to please a femme.”

“Do you? Maybe you'd better show me since I've not had any experience with it.” Jazz teased right back, his tone of voice aiming for naive and hitting it dead on.

Ratchet made a quick check and was about to pull away but Jazz splayed his legs and spread open the entrance to his valve, black fingers dark against the bright purple mesh. “It's been aching since I onlined. Maybe you should examine it inside.” Jazz suggested.

Ratchet tried to laugh and brush off the teasing, but he couldn't seem to. And he couldn't seem to look away either.

Jazz slid a finger inside and rubbed at the inner walls. “So achy...” he moaned. Transparent purple lubricants began to ooze, slicking up his finger. “Ooh! Why am I all so slippery here?”

“Well, I suppose I could...” answered Ratchet hesitantly. It wasn't like he and Jazz hadn't shared a berth before. And he watched stupefied as Jazz withrdrew the finger, raised it to his mouth, and sucked it clean.

“Mmm... I taste good,” he purred. “No wonder guys always chase after femmes.” He replaced the finger in the wet valve, swirling it around the inside.

So much for being professional. Ratchet felt himself heating up all too quickly.

Jazz smirked and let his head loll back into the pillow as he heard the door lock remotely at Ratchet's silent command. “So very achy. Needy,” he whimpered, sending a second finger in to join the first. And he shuddered when he felt Ratchet's hand slide over the inside of one thigh.

“I suppose I should see if Hoist hooked up the sensory nodes in here properly. Or if your calipers need adjusting.”

“Mmm. Do check...” Jazz purred, loving the way his new voice sounded.

Ratchet gently pulled Jazz's fingers out from between the black and purple mesh, replacing them with one of his own. And quickly he found a perpendicular row of nodes close to the entrance. As his fingers brushed over the sensitive cluster Jazz gasped and bucked, his hips lurching upwards suddenly. “Too sensitive?” Ratchet queried.

“Nope... just right,” was the answer. 

Ratchet continued to explore and test and examine. And sometimes Jazz would look down and watch the CMO pull his lubricant-coated fingers out before sliding them back in. Some degree of seriousness was maintained by the questions. “Does that feel good?” “Is right there sensitive?” “How does it feel if I press a little harder?” Jazz's lubrication continued and the clenching of the calipers went from simple twitches to serious gripping. It was obvious that the new femme was drawing close to an overload.

Ratchet focused on massaging the node clusters, working slowly as to extend this 'examination' a bit longer. This new frame was gorgeous, and Jazz was gorgeous in it. Ratchet found himself enjoying watching the saboteur squirm so deliciously beneath his touch. The way the trim lower abdominal plating flexed and rolled was mesmerizing. He'd forgotten how much he liked femmes, having been without them for so long.

“Ratchet, finish me,” Jazz began to beg. “You've got me so close. Please, Ratchet, please. It feels so good. My new frame feels so hot and I’m tingling all over.”

Ratchet added two more fingers, causing Jazz to writhe and lift his hips from the medberth. “So close! More! Please more!” Jazz wailed after a few more minutes of blatant thrusting.

“Are you sure you can take more?” Ratchet grinned. He loved to turn the black and white from his usual confidence and cockiness into a whimpering mess desperate for an overload. The first time Jazz had joined him in his berth had been on a whim. Every subsequent time had been for a repeat of Ratchet's skill.

“Harder! Please! Please!“ he begged, his hips grinding at a rapid pace as Ratchet started to drill his hand into the tight, sopping heat. And when Jazz overloaded, he bucked and trembled and moaned, his valve squeezing out the lubricants onto the berth below him. Through it Ratchet held on tight, his fingers pushing in as deeply as the spasming mesh and calipers would allow.

When the overload wound down and Jazz melted into the berth, his body quivering and fighting to stay online, Ratchet withdrew his hand. He took a couple of towels from a drawer in the medberth's pedestal and began to wipe up. “Seems you're set perfectly. As always Hoist did a nice job.”

Jazz recovered himself and grinned foolishly up at the CMO. “Are you sure? Fingers are one thing, but I'm not sure if I'm able to take a spike. Perhaps we'd better test that too.”

Ratchet pretended to sigh. “I'm sure Hoist thought of everything, but if you insist...”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 3: Prowl x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Prowl x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After introducing her to the faction, Prowl gets to know Ultraviolet's frame very, very well.  
> Warning: Ultraviolet does have a spike and will be getting it out in this chapter.

Walking into the rec room was basically the running of a gauntlet of catcalls and whistles and honking horns. The news of course had gotten around quickly, though everyone had been instructed not to mention 'femme' and 'Jazz' in the same sentence. Ultraviolet was simply 'the new girl' that Cosmos had found while out on a mission and brought back to the base, and it had been decided that she would be stationed with Elita's group.

Prowl led Ultraviolet up onto the dais, pausing just before they ascended the two steps. ::Primus you look good like this. We're going to have a hard time behaving ourselves while you're still here.::

::We've only been away from Cybertron a couple years in apparent time. Can we really miss the femmes that much already?::

::It feels like the four million it actually is.::

In front of the assembly, Prowl introduced Ultraviolet officially, saying that they would be sending her to Cybertron to join Elita-One's unit for a special task. More catcalls followed and suggestions of what the 'special task' might be. Jazz found his message box filling with files that were undoubtedly private offers of 'special tasks.'

“Ultraviolet will be leaving in approximately two weeks. Until then she will be getting used to her frame and preparing for her mission,” Prowl went on. “If she wants to use the training rooms, and you are there, it would be appreciated if you would surrender your place for her.”

Warpath suddenly flung himself down before her. “I'm surrendering right now, baby!” His friends grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him back.

A new flood of messages hit Jazz's inbox, including one from Prowl. That one he opened and read. ::I'm looking forward to personally helping you get used to your frame.:: Beneath the cold, calculating personality, Prowl was just as much of a mech as any of the others. The urge for closeness and communion ran strong through his processors.

::What are you doing after this?:: Jazz sent back.

::I was hoping for a special training session back in my quarters with you.::

-o-o-o-o-o-

“How do you want me?” Ultraviolet asked, lying on her side upon Prowl's berth and stroking her upper hip languidly. She rolled onto her front and propped her head in her hands. And then she rolled onto her back and stretched her legs, her raised heels hooked over the edge of the pad.

Prowl just stood at the utility counter sipping a small serving of high-grade.

“Well? What'cha want, now that you've got me?” she asked, striking another sexy pose for him.

“I think I just want to stare at how gorgeous you are. Wheeljack might be insane, but he sure knows how to build a femme.”

Ultraviolet pretended to pout. “All this and you just want to stare?” She rose up on her knees and put her hands on her hips, shuttering her optics in her indignation. “You know, I got a lot of offers today from the others about what they'd like to do with this frame, and I tell you, it didn't involve staring,” she fumed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Oh? Just what sort of offers did you get?”

“Well, for example, Grapple said he'd like to put one of these long legs over his shoulder and then find out what kind of a job Hoist did on my equipment.”

“Really now? And what else?”

“Sludge said 'Me Sludge want to know why everyone like femmes so much'. I suppose that's an offer as much as anything.”

Prowl finished the small cup of high-grade he'd been enjoying and sauntered over to the berth. “And...? Anyone else?”

“Plenty of anyone elses. So if you're just going to waste my time I could...!”

Ultraviolet was cut off by Prowl darting forward and throwing his arms around her, knocking her back onto the berth. His lips reached for hers.

They kissed, long and passionately, lip components meeting with a fierceness and a strange familiarity.

The kiss broke, and Ultraviolet felt herself being bent back onto the berth, Prowl cradling her descent. And eventually she found herself upon the backs of her shoulders and her shins. The SIC had his mouth pressed to her heating modesty panel.

“Mmm... Want me to open for you?” she teased.

Prowl rubbed his lips over the panel, wondering what awaited beneath. Jazz had mentioned earlier that Hoist had designed her interfacing equipment, and medics were frequently rather unconventional in their sexual tastes. “I do,” he informed.

Ultraviolet did open, the plate sliding back to reveal bright purple valve lips, their bio-lights gleaming orange and the head of a spike waiting to be summoned.

Prowl lovingly kissed Ultraviolet's outer node and then suckled it tenderly, causing her to gasp. “Show me more,” he then whispered. “Let me see your spike.”

Ultraviolet extended the dark grey thing, accented with a purple arabesque running its length. “It's lovely,” he said.

“Hoist made it to look slightly modded,” she grinned, reaching down to flick the copper ring piercing the smooth tip. It went into the opening of the transfluid channel and emerged from the underside. 

“I like it, complimented Prowl.

“And then there's this...” She lifted up the shaft to reveal a trio of small, hard knobs near the base of the small spike. “Those are meant to rub on a valve rim and they're hooked to my bio-current.”

“That Hoist is a kinky fragger. Has he tried them out yet?”

Ultraviolet smirked. “I'm sure he will when he gets the chance.”

“I might just give them a go right now and save him the trouble,” Prowl grinned.

Ultraviolet moved her feet a bit further apart. “Please do.”

Prowl began to suck on the little spike, probing its topography with his glossa and tugging on it with his lips. And then he began to swallow it, taking it in until his lips touched the housing around it. The stimulus knobs bumped his lower lip, making both them and Prowl's lip tingle.

“Ooh! Prowl!” Ultraviolet gasped.

But it didn't stop there. Prowl's hand had appeared and was stroking at the warm folds of mesh guarding the entrance of Ultraviolet's valve.

She gave a sound somewhere between a whimper and a giggle, her hands coming to grip the sides of her lover's head. Prowl had always surprised him in the berth. How could a mech this serious be so doting and passionate?

Prowl released the spike, licking the lubricant from his lip components. Then the stroking fingers folded, all but one, which was then plunged between the soft folds.

“P-Prowl!” Ultraviolet squeaked.

“Yes?” He looked up to see what expression the femme wore.

“I'm sensitive!” she gasped.

“So you are,” he said smugly, his lips lowering once more, this time aiming for the outer node and starting to suckle it once again. Meanwhile the finger pushed deeper into the dripping valve, working it in and out until a second finger was allowed to join the first.

“Prowl, you're going to make me overload,” Ultraviolet cried raggedly. The attention to her spike had gotten her quite revved up, and now the fingering of her valve and the attention to her outer node was pushing her quickly toward a climax.

“That's the idea,” he purred.

“But it's... it's so soon. We've hardly started.” She clamped her thighs together around her lover's head, her whole body trembling and ready to come undone.

“Does that really matter?” Pushing her thighs back apart Prowl took the outer node tightly between his lip components and tugged hard.

“Prowl! Ahhhh!” Ultraviolet shrieked as she overloaded, her optics going white and her valve tightening around the fingers still working it, drenching it with fluids. A spurt of transfluid escaped her spike, splattering silver onto the brilliant red Praxian crest.

Prowl's hand continued to work, no longer thrusting but his fingers tickling every node he could find to extend the femme's orgasm, until at last she heaved a sigh of completion and slumped hard against the berth, her optics flickering and her cooling fans whirring. And after some minutes she moaned in pleasure and smiled. “You just love doing that to me, don't you?”

The strategist grinned. “What do you mean? This is the first time I've invited you to my berth, Ultraviolet.” He reached up to wipe away a bead of transfluid that had dripped from his crest onto one optic.

“And hopefully not the last.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 4: Wheeljack x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	4. Wheeljack x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack is pranked in the washracks by a playful Jazz. The engineer has his own punishment for the naughtiness.

Wheeljack stepped out of the washrack cubicle and reached for the towel he'd set out for himself, only to find it missing. “Ehh?” He looked to see if it had fallen from the hook to the floor, but it wasn't there. “Thought I'd grabbed one...” Dripping heavily, he went over to the rack where more waited, grabbed one, and dried himself off. On finishing he went to grab his wire bucket of soaps and washing tools from the cubicle he'd used, only to find it no longer in the cubicle. He looked around to see if he'd set it elsewhere in his distraction by the missing towel, only to spot it sitting across the room sitting next to the somewhat distant door. “What the...?”

Wheeljack went over to collect it, and then went back to hang his towel on the drying rack, but his towel was already hanging there. He looked about again. He'd been alone since entering the washracks, and no one had come in that he'd noticed.

Suddenly it hit him that some sneak was messing with him.

Or perhaps 'her'.

He'd heard that Ultraviolet had been 'playful' in her training exercises for the upcoming mission. It was quite likely that she was honing her skills upon him, using the steam and the noise of the ventilation system as cover.

He set down the wire bucket again, this time on one of the benches. Catching her in the act would be a thrill. He took out a jar of polish and moved over to the polishing station, leaving behind the bucket as bait. Acting as nonchalantly as possible, he reached into the crate of clean polishing rags, but just as his hand reached them, he spun back around with an accusation of “Gotcha!”

The too-tempting bucket sat there untouched, apparently not as tempting as he thought it would be.

Wheeljack sighed. Maybe he was going mad, like the whispers suggested. Though those whispers had been around long before he'd even joined the Autobots. And then he turned back to the crate of rags. Might as well actually get in a little polishing while he was at the station. He grabbed a handful of rags, sat down on the bench, and opened his jar. And as he polished his plating he kept surreptitiously glancing into the mirror, able to see the bucket just sitting there as innocently as ever. The only thing he did see was Sideswipe and Sunstreaker coming in, covered with dirt from an extended sparring session outdoors. “Hey 'Jack,” Sideswipe called. 

“Sides', 'Streaker.”

The twins went over to one of the larger cubicles together and switched on the water, filling the room with splashing and steam and happy post-workout banter.

Wheeljack finished up and tossed the soiled rags into the collection bin. Then he grabbed his bucket and headed out of the washracks.

Ultraviolet was standing in the hallway just outside, which made Wheeljack do a double take. She really had been about. “Missing something?” she asked before he could greet her.

“Missing something?” Wheeljack looked down to find that his wire bucket was still in his hand, but on looking back up he found his big scrubbing brush in hers.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“I could have Prowl throw you in the brig for theft, you know,” Wheeljack hissed in Ultraviolet's audial. “I suspect you'd like that though.”

“I think I would,” sighed Ultraviolet.

“Such a bad girl,” Wheeljack chided. He yanked his spike from her valve, causing her to cry out as his rubbery insulator-plate mods scraped against the soft lining. His hand slapped her aft, and then grabbed it, shaking it vigorously.

“Just as you framed me,” she retorted.

“So I did...” The engineer shoved himself back into her. Going in was easy. Pulling out was harder given the amount of drag caused by the mods on his spike.

“Oh frag!” Ultraviolet gasped as the spike hit the entrance to her gestational chamber, sending a shockwave through her systems.

Wheeljack had her bent over one of his workbenches and was pounding her pretty hard. He'd seen Hoist's schematics and completed work and knew her valve could take a little roughness. In fact he'd been fragging her so hard that the tools and radar cones he'd had been working with earlier that day had been vibrating their way across the surface, eventually vibrating off the edge to clatter to the floor. And he knew he should care, but the moment felt so good he'd decided to ignore his better judgment.

“I never knew you had this in you, Jackie,” Ultraviolet panted between thrusts.

“But I knew you had it in you,” he answered smugly. “Put it there myself.”

Ultraviolet laughed and wondered if Wheeljack had ever framed a concubine for himself.

Wheeljack reached between her legs and lifted one up so that her knee rested upon the work surface, spreading her for full access. The enthusiastic pounding continued, Ultraviolet's entire frame rocking hard against the workbench as Wheeljack pistoned into her again and again. The remaining tools and datapads shook and eventually walked their way off the edge to plummet to the floor. When a set of sockets hit the floor and scattered in every direction with a delicious chiming, Wheeljack only hammered harder into her.

“Frag, Wheeljack. If you keep this up, you're going to have to rebuild me below the waist,” Ultraviolet managed between thrusts.

“It'll be worth it,” gasped the engineer, his vocalizer sounding as if it were about to short out. He bent himself back a little and scooped his thrusts up into her, watching his fancy spike slam into the purple passage, every biolight bright with charge. And every time that spike hit her ceiling node Ultraviolet saw static. His hands tightened on her suddenly. “Here it comes!” he coughed, his thrusts slowing. “I'm going to... I'm going to... Oh damn you feel so...”

Ultraviolet cried out as Wheeljack's hands squeezed him painfully tight and his spike hit hard and deep, ramming against the entrance to her gestational chamber and holding there, hot gushes of transfluid emptying against the closed oculus. He was crying out and convulsing, steam visibly erupting from several of his vents. She could feel her insides filling with his fluids and still it continued to pump as if he was attempting to drown her from within.

And when his cry gave out so did his overload, and he staggered back, pulling out of Ultraviolet's valve as he went. Silvery purple fluids splashed to the floor. And then Wheeljack's knees hit the floor, followed by the rest of him.

Ultraviolet vented deeply trying to cool herself. That had been intense. Seriously intense. Her arm curled around her faceplate to shield her visor from the workshop lights above, their glare suddenly seeming painful.

And after cooling to a reasonable internal temperature, she managed to gracelessly get her leg from off of the workbench's surface and find her footing again. Wheeljack lay face down at her feet, crackles of electricity still running over his frame.

“Jack?” she asked timidly.

No response.

“Jackie? You still there?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. There were no signs of rebooting, and after a few minutes she began to worry. After a few more minutes, there'd still not been any signs of recovery though the sparks had long ceased to dance over his frame. She urgently pinged Ratchet. ::Ratchet? I think I broke Wheeljack.::

::Broke him?::

::He was 'facing me pretty hard, and I think he overdid it. He's just lying here unconscious.::

Ratchet began laughing. ::He's fine. He just overloads rather explosively if he's having a really good time.::

::What should I do?::

::Just do what I always do. Roll him onto his back—careful of the sensor wings though—and leave him for a few hours.::

::A few hours?:: Jazz and Wheeljack had somehow never gotten together in all the time they'd known each other.

::Yeah. He'll send you an apology when he wakes and offer to make up for it if he's left you hanging. This is all completely normal for him.::

::Really?::

::Yep. In the meantime, need someone else to work off some charge...if he's left you hanging? Hoist and I aren't doing anything down here in medbay.::

Ultraviolet smirked. ::I don't think I'm up for anything right now, not after the pounding I just received.::

::Understood. But if you change your mind and he's not awake yet, you know where to find us.::

Ultraviolet did as Ratchet had instructed, rolling the engineer carefully onto his back. And then she found some towels and wiped him down. He probably would apologize later, probably with much embarrassment. And maybe they'd have recovered enough to give him the opportunity to redeem himself.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 5: Inferno x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Inferno x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inferno has a special something he wants Ultraviolet to deliver to Firestar on Cybertron.

“Ultraviolet?” came the soft voice.

Ultraviolet swiveled her neck to see Inferno standing there.

“Have a moment?”

“Sure thing.” Ultraviolet spun on the balance beam to face the red warrior. Wheeljack had set one up in the training room for Ultraviolet to practice upon.

“You'll be seeing Firestar, right?”

“I should. As far as I know she's still with Elita-One's group.”

Inferno scanned the room briefly, looking to see if they were alone. “I have something special I want you to give to Firestar when you're on Cybertron. Would that be possible?”

“Well of course I could,” she smiled. “You're not the only one sending a gift. We've started a table for collecting them down in the Ops room.”

Inferno looked a little embarrassed and he shuffled on his broad feet. “Well, this isn't something you can put out on the gift table exactly. It's a bit more personal if you know what I mean.” He looked around again to double check if he and the femme were still alone. “Like really personal.”

Ultraviolet shifted from her sitting position to lay on her side upon the balance beam. “I think I understand,” she said with a purr.

“Could you come to my quarters later? Maybe about nine?”

“Tonight works.” Already she was beginning to heat up in contemplation of what the big warrior was going to have him pass along. Red Alert's descriptions of his private life—if and when you could get him to talk about it—made Inferno sound like a porn star with near limitless stamina. “But one question. What about Red?”

“He's all for this too. And... he wants to watch, if you don't mind.”

The light smile became a broad grin. “Not at all.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Inferno gently lifted aside the hand hiding Ultraviolet's valve from view. “Don't be shy now. You've got nothing to hide.” And then his warm expression became one of amazement as he saw the bright purple mesh revealed. “Ohhh... so pretty.”

Red Alert, wrapped in a blanket and watching patiently from a chair nearby, could not help himself from coming over to look for himself. “Ooooh... she is pretty.”

“Very pretty down there.” And Inferno bent forward, shoving his mouth unhesitatingly into the soft mesh, nipping and licking and ending up smearing his faceplate with Ultraviolet's fluids. His glossa explored, swirling it around the velvety exterior and the stiffer inner rim before seeking out Ultraviolet's outer node. And on finding it, as told by the slow buck of the femme's hips, he closed his lip components around it and suckled hard.

Ultraviolet threw her head back at the intense burst of pleasure that set her legs to twitching. Had he been taking lessons from Prowl? “Inferno! Inferno not so hard! You're going to overload me way too quickly!”

The big red warrior paused a moment. “But this is what I want you to give to Firestar,” he said disappointedly. “I can't be there to make her overload so hard and so intensely that the berth catches fire, so you'll have to do it for me.”

“You don't want me to draw it out? So she has time to enjoy it?” She lifted her head off the berth to see Inferno and Red Alert staring back. The former was on his front between her well spread thighs and the latter leaned gracefully against the bigger frame.

Inferno shook his head. “I want her to be so overwhelmed her processors will take a cycle to reset. Is that okay?”

Ultraviolet gave him a smile. “Of course it's okay,” she grinned. “If that's what you want.”

Inferno smiled joyously, and then was rapidly back at work, pinching the outer node between his denta while his glossa wriggled against the very tip.

Ultraviolet cried out and her hips bucked again, Inferno managing somehow to remain connected and not letting up the stimulation for a moment. And just as she was wondering how much longer she could take the intensity, his arm slid forward, sneaking in beneath his chin. The wet folds of Ultraviolet's valve spread as what had to be a false spike slid into her. “Ah! You're not kidding about making her overload so quickly!”

“That's the idea,” said Red Alert confidently, speaking for his lover. His hand dropped to rub at the panel over his own interfacing array.

Inferno's glossa pressed hard to the subject node and Ultraviolet's hips bucked up from the berth, crying out as the overload began, Ultraviolet unable to withstand the intensity of the stimulation. Inferno followed her upwards, neither letting go nor slowing. He began to pump the false spike hard into her as she came.

“Just hold onto it...” Red Alert instructed Ultraviolet with a lusty purr. “Just keep your hips up.”

Ultraviolet wanted to respond to Red Alert but couldn't. She spasmed through her overload, heaving and shaking, even trying to push Inferno's head away. But he held on tightly, refusing the femme any mercy. And just when she thought the sensations couldn't get any more intense, the false spike began to vibrate against her ceiling node.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When she came online again, it was to the sound of moaning and whimpering in the throes of ecstasy. Ultraviolet found Red Alert on the berth next to her, Inferno between his legs fragging him hard. Red Alert's hands grasped desperately at the covers and his sensor horns were glowing near white, the sensitive mech absolutely given over to pleasure.

Inferno noticed that Ultraviolet was awake, and he gave her a predatory grin. “When I'm done with Red here, I'm going to do the exact same thing to you too.”

Ultraviolet licked her lips. Apparently Red Alert had not been exaggerating in the least regarding his partner.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 6: Ironhide x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. Ironhide x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always known that Ironhide was not just Optimus' bodyguard, but his lover as well. What Jazz had never known was just how good of a lover Ironhide was.

Powerglide caught up to Ultraviolet in the rec room and stood before her, looking somewhat awkward. “Um, Ultraviolet? I know this is kinda bad, me asking you this and all. But could you give this to Moonracer.” He held out a data slug.

“What is it?” asked Ultraviolet, taking it from him.

“Um, well, things haven't been great between us. I mean, we were apart a long time, but well... after we found the girls again... uh... well Astoria came along and...”

“It's a break-up letter, isn't it.”

Powerglide looked ashamed. “Well, yeah. I know I should tell her to her face, but...”

Ultraviolet held up her hand. “Look, I understand. And with circumstances as they are, this is probably your only option.”

“I'm sorry to make you be the bearer of bad news and all, but...”

“Hey, I know how things go. I'm sure she'll be upset, but she's a smart girl. She'll understand in the end.”

Powerglide looked relieved. “Thanks Ja... err...Ultraviolet.”

“No problem.”

Powerglide left the rec room, wings held a bit higher.

Ironhide came over to Ultraviolet. “I overheard. A smart girl?”

“She's not exactly the brightest bulb, but she's way ahead of Shockwave's drones.” Ultraviolet shrugged. “So, got a break up letter for Chromia too?”

Ironhide folded his arms over his chest. “You'd seriously think that I'd...”

Ultraviolet waved her hands apologetically. “I'm just teasing, man.”

“You'd better be,” Ironhide snorted. And then he smiled with a bit of a lopsided twist to his lips. “Though, I do have some concerns about you going off to Cybertron.”

“Oh? And what would those concerns be?”

“Well I'm just afraid that you'll like being up there with the femmes and back on Cybertron again so much, that you won't want to come back to us.”

“Oh really?”

Ironhide stepped in a little closer. “Forgive me being a bit forward here, but why don't you come visit me tonight after my guard shift's over. Before you go, I want to give you a good reason to come back to us.”

The words tingled in Ultraviolet's audials. When had Ironhide's voice ever been that smooth or seductive. In fact when had Ironhide himself ever been that smooth or seductive?

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Think you can handle that much machine?” Ironhide asked.

Ultraviolet tried to look bored as she straddled Ironhide's thighs, optics focused on Ironhide's erect spike before her. “I've taken bigger.” It wasn't completely a lie. Jazz had taken much bigger in the course of his sexual adventures. This however would be the largest so far since being reframed.

“I doubt it,” Ironhide teased right back. He reached up and grabbed her hips and tugged her forward so that her modesty panel bumped up against the length. It was definitely longer than average and had a defined head rather than the usual smooth ending. But it did not look like it had been modded to be that way.

“I have taken much bigger. You're just showing off.” 

“There's a reason Optimus keeps me next door, you know.”

“Besides as a bodyguard? Why would that be?” She opened the cover and leaned back on her arms, the revealed purple folds rubbing temptingly against the underside of Ironhide's spike.

“Why don't you just stop your yappin' and let me show you?” he tugged her forward again, so that she sat atop his spike, now folded upwards between them. The shaft felt so wonderfully warm beneath Ultraviolet, and she knew it would soon be soaked with her own lubricants. As much as she was giving Ironhide a hard time, she was very eager to enjoy what he had to offer. “You know Optimus likes a good spiking.”

“And I know he also likes to be the one doing the spiking sometimes. Now which would he want you for?”

Ironhide reached up, wrapped one hand around her neck fairing, and yanked Ultraviolet down so that the two lay face to face. “You've been such a naughty tease since you got yourself reformatted. Whatever happened to that cool guy we used to know.”

“Hmmph,” Ultraviolet huffed. “You're not only proud, but you've also been spoiled.” She rose to all fours, placing the tip of the spike temptingly against her inviting purple mesh.

“Hardly. But I'll let you give it a try... see if you can ruin me for anyone else.”

Ultraviolet smirked. And then she shifted slightly so that the head of Ironhide's spike slipped into her valve, the flare's width stretching her open. Another shift and with a lurch and a pop as the head made it into the heated passage beyond the tight entrance. A delighted gasp escaped her vocalizer.

Ironhide made a pleased noise, and placing his hands on her hips, he pulled Ultraviolet down about halfway. The wet mesh spread easily, allowing the red and silver length to slide in. She moaned in pleasure as she was filled. Ironhide was indeed very nicely built.

“See, darling? I'm exactly what you've been needing.”

Ultraviolet only continued to moan in response. It did feel good. Amazingly good. Unexpectedly good. How had Jazz never managed to end up bedding Ironhide before? Perhaps his closeness with Optimus and his devotion to Chromia had always kept him at bay.

“And now that you've had a sample, do you need a little bit more.”

“Yes please,” Ultraviolet whimpered humbly.

Ironhide obliged her and brought her down the rest of the way, moving slowly to draw out that wonderful feeling of being stretched into accommodation. “Ohhhh Primus... Oh Primus that feels so good,” Ultraviolet groaned. She dropped down and wrapped her arms around the larger mech's neck, burying her face into the cables there. “Soooo good.”

The red mech only chuckled in response and began to very slowly pump in and out of the femme.

Ultraviolet shivered with each thrust that filled her valve and breathed a sigh with each withdrawal. Jazz really had been missing out.

“You feel pretty amazing yourself. I'm going to have to thank Ratchet personally.”

“Hoist,” Ultraviolet mumbled through the haze of pleasure. “Hoist built my interface array.”

“Hoist is seriously an underrated mech. But until then...” He withdrew completely and rose from the mattress, earning a pout and a disappointed hum from Ultraviolet. But she was soon relieved when he easily picked her up with strong hands and arms and lay her on her back. The huge spike was plunged back in and Ironhide began to thrust with more speed. “Now I've gotta give you something to remember, so that you'll be sure to come back to us when the mission's over.”

Ultraviolet's hands fumbled for some sort of purchase on the berth. Ironhide's pumping had grown stronger and had settled into a definite rhythm. She could feel herself sliding further up the mattress with each surge of his strong hips. But just when they were about to disconnect, he stopped his thrusts and drew her back down, and she was able to grab onto the edge of the mattress. That was when she realized how crisp the edges of it were, which meant that Ironhide was probably spending much more berth-time next door than here in his own quarters.

He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely, longingly. “And when you come back to us, bring Chromia with you. I miss her terribly.

“If I can.” Ultraviolet kissed him back, a new affection suddenly blooming within for the old warrior. I probably should bring all the girls with me.” 

“That would be the best,” he grinned. “Now where were we?” He gave the grey and white femme one last kiss before starting up his thrusting again, slower this time, filling her again and again.

Ultraviolet loved it. Somehow everything with Ironhide was perfect. His size. His speed. The pressure he applied. The embrace he held her in. The way his vents blew hot air against her plating. The way he kissed her. The way he rumbled in her audials. The way he dragged his spike across the slick lining of her valve. Suddenly the contentment he and Chromia had known in their relationship made a whole lot more sense. If their nights were like this, absolute perfection in the midst of the chaos of war...

Ironhide's deep ventilations became grunts of building charge as his pace quickened. But now instead of resting his hands on the berth he gripped Ultraviolet's thighs and simply pulled her right onto his spike. “I'm getting close,” he warned her.

“I'm ready for it,” she panted back, vocalizer shaky. Her own spiraling charge was making her dizzy.

The red mech gave a few more hard thrusts, his spike suddenly hammering hard against her ceiling node, which made Ultraviolet cry out in shock and ecstasy. And then he jerked his spike from her valve, took it in one hand, and overloaded there. Scalding transfluid spattered across her trim abdominal plating. He moaned and choked, and when the last bit of his overload played out, he shoved his spike back into the slick folds and pounded at her again until she was whimpering her through her own climax, her thighs shaking and her back arching off of the berth.

Spent, they lay cuddled together, cooling fans humming in unison as he massaged her side with long, languid strokes. It had only been one round, but what an intense one it had been.

“Ironhide, that was amazing,” Ultraviolet hummed against his chest.

“Mmmm. Glad you enjoyed,” he rumbled back.

“I'm not sure I want to bring Chromia back, so I can keep you to myself after I return.”

Ironhide chuckled. “Trust me. There's enough of me to go around.”

“Even with you being Optimus' lover as well?”

“If ya'll are patient and give me a moment to recuperate, yes.” He pulled her tightly against his frame in a joyful hug.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 7: Spike x Jazz

-o-o-o-o-o-


	7. Spike x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike knew it was wrong, finding the femme attractive in ways that should have been reserved for his own species. And yet he couldn't hold himself back when opportunity arose. Ultraviolet was just all too willing to share.

Ultraviolet looked over her list and laid out a route through Central City. There were gifts to take to Cybertron—polish and wax and soap and organic fiber items for the femmes—things they'd had a hard time getting in the long interim. Dozens of packages had been laid out already on the mission table, but a few more waited in town for pick up.

“Spike, could 'ya give me a hand in town?” She asked the human boy, the boy all too obviously trying not to stare at her—much like the rest of the Autobots hanging around nearby. “You'll save me a lot of time running into the shops.”

Spike shook himself out of the light daze he found himself in frequently around the newly reframed TIC. “Uh! Sure! Of course.”

She dropped from her curvy frame into her curvy car mode, flipping open a door for the boy.

Spike dove in and Ultraviolet cranked up the radio and rolled out fast.

“So is it weird being a girl now?” Spike asked a few miles down the road.

“It was at first,” she answered. “I'm liking it though.”

“The others give you a lot of attention, I've noticed. But I guess they don't find it weird either. If you were a human guy, and you suddenly became a girl, there'd be a very different reaction and probably not in a good way.”

“It's different for you organics, I know. Does it bother you personally?”

Spike leaned back in his seat. “Naw. I think I'm cool with it.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Spike came out of the store to find Ultraviolet in her robot mode and sitting on a little bit of lawn at the edge of the parking lot. She leaned back on her hands as she chatted amiably with two strangers—two men who were staring at her with rapt expressions. “Well hey, that's too bad that you're heading back to Cybertron so soon,” one was saying. The other man was scribbling something onto the back of a store receipt.

“Yeah. Shame I won't be staying. You have a pretty nice planet here, even though it's organic,” she replied. “Oh, hey! Looks like my driver's here,” she said, noting Spike on the the approach.

The men turned to see the boy walking toward them, bags of shopping in hand.

“Well nice meeting you two,” Ultraviolet smiled, her visor glinting. “Gary and Kyle was it?”

“That's right m'am,” said the one with the scrap of paper, which he held out to the femme. “This is, ah, our contact information, if ah, if you do have some, uh, time before you leave and want to, ah, like go out or something.”

The other man chipped in. “Yeah, if you get a free night, I'd love to show you some of the pretty sights around here, and I'd really love to talk more with you.”

Ultraviolet took the paper, captured the information on the slip, and tucked it away.

“My, uh, cousin owns a carwash in town too. So, ah, I could get you some free passes for while, uh, you're still around. He says that, uh, you robots like the carwashes. And ah, maybe I could take you to the drive-in theater?”

Spike tried not to groan. These humans were hitting on her. How could they actually be interested in a huge alien robot woman? “Ultraviolet, I got everything you wanted,” he said quickly as he stepped up beside her. “Enough wiper-blade refills to last fifty years and every single one of those pine-tree air fresheners they had.” That ought to remind the two men that she really wasn't their type.

“Thanks, Spike,” she beamed and then stood. “Again, nice to meet you,” she said with a nod to the two men, and moved onto the asphalt where she dropped into her vehicular mode.

“Awesome,” both gasped stupidly.

Ultraviolet popped open her passenger door and Spike loaded in the shopping before getting in himself on the driver's side.

“Call me!” called one of the men as Ultraviolet took off.

“Uggh, those guys were all drooling over you,” Spike groaned once they were back on the road.

“I know,” Ultraviolet chortled. “They thought I was some pretty hot stuff. But hey, the guys did a pretty nice job on this frame. I forgot how much Ratchet likes femmes, so of course he got Wheeljack to make me super sexy.”

“Maybe a bit too nice of a job,” Spike huffed.

“I've noticed you staring as well.”

“What? Me? Uh no. I've just been looking to see what's different on you now.” Ultraviolet had called him on his hypocrisy, just like that.

“Hey, nothing wrong with finding me sexy.”

“I don't find... well, no, that's not what I meant. I mean you are sexy, but it's not like that.”

“Like what?” Ultraviolet prodded, knowing the boy was having a difficult time with this.

“Well, okay. Maybe I do think you look kinda nice, but you're an alien and a robot and until a week ago you were a guy. It's not like I could actually have a relationship with someone like you.”

“So you think we're incompatible?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it's obvious, isn't it?”

“Want me to show you how compatible I can be?”

“What do you mean, Jazz? Er, Ultraviolet?”

“Are you of consenting age on this planet?”

Spike straightened so fast in his seat that his head hit Ultraviolet's roof. “What! Consenting age? Are you talking about sex?!” he asked, suddenly immensely flustered.

“Isn't that what you were thinking of?”

“Well no. Well sorta, I guess.”

Ultraviolet chuckled. “Well think about it. And if you're still curious by the time we get back to the Ark, I'll be happy to demonstrate just how compatible a Human male and a Cybertronian female can be. If you want, you can ask Chip too. He'll vouch for me.”

“Whoa, Chip? You and Chip Chase? What were...? No wait, I'm not sure I want to know. Ugh... how did that happen? No wait. I really don't want to know.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Spike kept his eyes scrunched shut and tried not to think about what he was doing. Whenever he thought about it he could feel his erection flagging. There were too many things that were wrong about this whole situation. And yet he'd gone ahead with it despite himself.

He was balls deep in the slick purple snatch of one of his best friends, his jeans around his ankles, a friend who until a week ago had been male, a friend who was neither human, nor his size, nor from this planet. Her hand was wrapped around his back and she was guiding his thrusts into the wetness between her legs. This was not how he'd expected to lose his virginity. He'd fantasized about it happening in an Autobot's berth, but not with said berth's occupant.

“Ready to go a bit tighter?” Ultraviolet asked smoothly.

“Tighter?”

“Well sure.” Ultraviolet pushed him in, holding his hips against her. “Tell me if I clamp down too tightly though. I'm taking a guess as to your tolerances here.” The folds of metallic mesh—those that had proven to be unexpectedly soft and pliable to the touch—began to tighten around his cock until they felt as tight as the grip of his own hand.

“H-How did you do that?” Spike stuttered. Physically it felt good but logically it was frightening.

Ultraviolet giggled. “A femme's gotta be able to take all sizes of partners, from guys your size on up to, say, Skyfire's size.”

Spike couldn't restrain himself from asking. “What about Omega Supreme? What if he's feeling lonely?”

Ultraviolet giggled again. “I could take Omega Supreme, but then he's configured differently. The good bits are on the inside.”

Spike suddenly had horrible thoughts of the times he'd flown in Omega Supreme. Who knew what lay behind some of those panels he and Carly had leaned up against. Suddenly there was something sinister about the seating arrangements in his main cabin.

“Now forget about the others and just focus on how good that feels,” Ultraviolet instructed. “How good you feel right now.”

Spike did, holding onto Ultraviolet's hip fairings and thrusting away into the squelchy wetness, much less squelchy now that she'd tightened up.

“Spike... breathe,” she reminded him. “You're holding your breath. Even I know that can't be good.”

“Spike... relax. You're not going to do yourself any good if you don't relax a bit,” she reminded him a few minutes later.

He apologized. “Sorry.”

“Aren't you enjoying this?” Ultraviolet asked, suddenly concerned for the young human.

“I am. I'm just kinda nervous. And it's a bit weird.”

“Do you want to stop? I won't be disappointed or mad if we do. Maybe inter-species relationships aren't your thing.”

Spike opened his eyes. Ultraviolet was looking at him with a caring expression. “I want it to be. I mean, I don't want to be afraid of this. He looked down to where he disappeared into Ultraviolet, his heated skin sloppy with her lubricants, his human body being swallowed up by puffy metal mesh.

“What are you afraid of? Maybe I can help you out here.”

“Help? Well maybe. Uh... I'm not sure about that.” He looked back up at Ultraviolet. “Well weren't you nervous on your first time too?”

Ultraviolet gave a soft smile. “First time with an alien? Well sure.”

“Well not just that. First time with anyone.”

Ultraviolet's expression became one of surprise. “This is your first time having sex with anyone?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You've never been with anyone? But what about Carly?”

“She's not been that interested.”

Ultraviolet suddenly laughed, but there was kindness in her tone. She pulled away from him in shifted position, pulling her little organic lover to her chest, where she cuddled him close. “Oh, Spike. No wonder you've been acting like I've been about to bite you. Maybe I should walk you through this.”

“You don't have to. I can do it. At least I think I can.” Be brave. Be a man.

“Hey, I've now gotta make sure your first time ends happily. I can't send you back out there scared for life of getting intimate with someone—human or otherwise.”

“Maybe I'm not actually ready for this.”

Ultraviolet's voice went sultry. “Given what you've done so far, I'd say that you're more than ready.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It had taken some patience and some coaxing and a lot of encouragement, but in the end Ultraviolet managed to get Spike to relax and really start to enjoy himself. And afterward they cuddled, Spike having found some confidence and even now seemed both relieved and excited about the experience. “So was Chip nervous too?” he asked.

Ultraviolet's fingers, running tender circles over Spike's back, shifted their pattern. “Actually no. Turns out I wasn't his first Autobot.”

Spike suddenly pushed himself up on his forearms. “Wait! What?”

Ultraviolet pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead. “Don't think about that too much.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 8: "Bumblebee x Jazz"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	8. Bumblebee x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz's stalking has been perfected and Bumblebee rewards him for it.

Bumblebee straightened, his passage down the hallway coming to an abrupt stop. He turned and looked behind him, but seeing no one there he shrugged for what seemed the tenth time that day. And then turning back around he continued along, pushing the cart of supplies Wheeljack had requisitioned. This area of the Ark was always quiet—usually empty—but today as he'd worked in the storeroom he'd kept getting the odd feeling that there had been someone else about. At one point Ratchet was banging around in the room next door, fetching a few more spools of tubing. But even after he was gone the odd feeling persisted. The fact that twice he'd found items he'd loaded onto the cart later just sitting beside it waiting to be loaded, hadn't helped.

And then there was a definite sound. He whirled about wondering what had just clattered in the hallway behind him. “All right! Who's there?” he called out.

“Just me,” came the answer from the front of the cart.

Bumblebee whipped back around to find Ultraviolet leaning upon the cart handle at the opposite end.

“Gotcha!” she smirked.

The yellow spy folded his arms over his chest. “All right. How long have you been following me around today?” He suddenly felt foolish for forgetting that Ultraviolet had been prowling the Ark, practicing sneaking up on the mechs in preparation for her mission.

“For about the past three cycles. You're a lot of fun to spy on, you know.”

Bumblebee huffed. “At least I know now that it's you and that my audials aren't giving me some odd feedback. And you messed with some of the stuff on the cart?” He gestured at the crates aboard it.

Ultraviolet put a fingertip to her cheek and looked elsewhere. “Who me?” she asked teasingly.

Bumblebee shook his head, chuckling at his superior's antics. “Well if you can hide from me that long, I suppose you're ready to head for Cybertron.”

“That's what I wanted to check. Give myself a difficult task and see if I could accomplish it.”

“And I'd say you passed.”

“I hope you don't mind,” smiled the femme.

“I was starting to get a bit creeped out there for a while, but all is forgiven,” Bumblebee said sweetly. And then he realized he was staring at her. The others were right. Perhaps Wheeljack and Ratchet had gone a bit overboard regarding her physical appeal. “Ah, I need to get this stuff down to Wheeljack's workroom,” he said quickly.

Ultraviolet stepped aside. “I won't keep you any longer. You've been very helpful, 'Bee.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said happily and resumed his journey. And then he stopped the cart again. “If you need some breaking and entering practice, I'll be alone in my quarters tonight. Cliffjumper's away on a mission.”

Ultraviolet grinned. “I might just try that. Though if you know I'm coming, you have something of an advantage.”

“More of a challenge for you then,” Bumblebee giggled.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Bumblebee slid down, his head coming to rest on what would be the hood of Ultraviolet's alt-mode. “I wasn't expecting this when I said you could try breaking in.” He kissed the smooth plating against his faceplate.

The femme's slightly pointed fingertips trailed up and down the cabling in Bumblebee's neck, teasing the tubing and struts and the outer plating. She loved the way the minibot purred and pushed into her hand, unashamedly enjoying her affections, until he eventually pulled himself back up and kissed her on the mouth.

“I couldn't help myself. I broke in quiet as can be, but you were cheating and had gone into recharge already. How am I supposed to know how well I did if you're all shut down?” She kissed back, massaging the flexible plating of his waist.

“I didn't actually think you'd be coming.”

“But I did.”

So you climbed into my berth with me and kissed me awake?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“Well, I liked it. But I doubt Shockwave would be swayed,” he said quietly.

“I don't plan on sneaking into his berth, if the old creep actually sleeps in a berth.” She kissed him back, this time catching his lower lip between hers and tugging on it gently.

Bumblebee returned the kiss, this time pressing an open-mouthed one to her pliable lips. And then he slid back down, leaving a trail of the same behind him, tiny open mouthed presses in a meandering trail that led all the way to her closed but rapidly heating modesty panel. Hot ventilations from him, ones that blew across her waist and thighs, let her know that he was equally aroused. “May I?” he asked.

Ultraviolet answered by letting the panel slide back. Bumblebee's kissing continued, lingering on the outer node and the tip of the unextended spike just above it, the femme humming and purring her approval of his gentle touch. Bumblebee was the opposite end of the spectrum from Inferno in his technique, but if she had to choose between them it would be impossible.

And then Bumblebee moved back up, bright yellow armor sliding gracefully over hers. “May I spike you?” he asked. “Or would you rather have me?”

“Could I have both? In that order?” she replied.

Bumblebee rose and gazed into her optics with such a look of love that Ultraviolet worried she might begin to melt right then and there. His hand caught hers, and he brought it to his mouth, kissing her fingers feverishly and desperately. “I'd love nothing more than to share both,” he said, his usually chipper voice now slow and sultry. Jazz had taken the minibot to his berth on more than one occasion, and every time Bumblebee had made him feel deeply and truly loved. It had never been a quick interface for a bit of relief or an hour of fun, but always a drawn-out, exceedingly romantic session that left Jazz worried that Bumblebee would be begging him to spark-bond at the end of it.

The distinctive sound of a minibot's panel snapping open and the accompanying spike extending came next, followed by the sensation of said spike slipping rapidly through Ultraviolet's outer folds of mesh. Bumblebee's hips quickly met hers. Both of them inhaled quickly, the amazement of the moment sinking in. “You feel really good,” he whispered.

Ultraviolet tightened her calipers, giving him a little squeeze.

“Really, really good!” he gasped. And then he began to move his hips, withdrawing himself slightly before easing back in.

“You feel pretty good yourself, too,” she smiled down at him. Connected as they were, their height difference was obvious. Inferno had been the tallest so far, and Bumblebee was the smallest, not including Spike. And then she curled her body forward to minimize the difference, allowing them to remain joined but that they could continue to kiss—which Bumblebee did immediately. He pressed his parted lips to her mouth, his glossa probing at hers.

“Ultraviolet, you're wonderful. I want you to know that,” he panted, his voice trembling as he continued to push in and out of her.

Her hands cupped his head, optics still locked on his. “'Bee, you're so sweet and amazing. Why didn't they name you 'Honey' instead?

The joke make Bumblebee giggle and he kissed her for the thousandth time, his ardor no less now than it had been at the first kiss. “Maybe if I get reframed as a femme for a mission sometime, I'll take Honey as a name.” 

“You'd make an adorable femme.”

“You think so?” His pace increased, and soon his hips were gently thudding against her plating.

“Ooh... yes,” Ultraviolet whimpered. “Yes you would...” A small grunt of pleasure escaped her each time their hips met. Her thighs began to tremble as the charge built.

Bumblebee kept up the quicker pace, knowing that it was a good one for her. And if this frame was set anything like Jazz's had been, that pace would soon bring her to overload.

“Oh, 'Bee... I'm getting close. So close, 'Bee.”

“Anything else you want, my love? Will this take you over the edge?” He always tried to get his partners through their climaxes first before surrendering to one of his own; his were so strong and overpowering he'd usually be knocked offline for a while. He hated to wake alone and find himself abandoned by an unsatisfied lover. And he certainly didn't want to miss the opportunity to be spiked by her. 

“It will, 'Bee. Just keep going. I'm so close...”she whimpered.

And when Ultraviolet overloaded, she let out such an impassioned, longing keen of pleasure that Bumblebee could barely keep his concentration steady and the rhythm up. It was even more difficult when she clasped him tightly to her chest and forced his face into her neck, clutching his helm with as much intensity as her valve clutched at his spike. Unable to hold back, Bumblebee overloaded, his back arching and his charged array spilling hot transfluid into her.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When it was over, they lay beside each other on the berth, Bumblebee all but unconscious next to the femme. She reached down and pulled the blanket up over them. “Mind if I catch a few cycles of recharge with you? It was a long day for me, and I seem to be rather exhausted for some reason,” she teased.

“I'd love it if you stayed a while longer,” he murmured softly into her side. Somehow he'd ended up tucked beneath one of her arms, the fingers of his left hand toying with the seams in her waist. He could feel her field, so warm and inviting, surrounding him with a love that was returned in nearly equal measure to his own. “A shame you'll be leaving for Cybertron so soon.”

“A few days. We're going to go over the mission details again. Cosmos just brought back a bit of new intelligence that may very well apply.”

“Mmmmmm... That means I can keep you the rest of the night.”

“If I'm welcome to stay here.”

“You've always been, and you always will be welcome in my berth,” he purred sleepily.

“Oh 'Bee. You're so sweet. I could just lick you up as if you really were honey.”

There was no response... only the soft steadiness of a recharging mech's field.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 9: "Optimus x Jazz"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. Optimus x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game in the rec-room somehow leads to sex in Optimus' berth

Huffer fixed Tracks with a wicked smirk as the spinner came to a stop. “Quest, Question, or Command?” he asked.

Tracks looked down at the scant few goldslips in front of him. “Question,” was his cautious response.

The other mechs in the circle chortled quietly. This was going to be good.

“Tracks,” began the little engineer. “Is it true that you prefer the company of humans to your own kind.”

The blue warrior looked indignant. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Wheeljack laughed and nudged Tracks, who was sitting next to him at the circular table. “I'd say that's a yes.”

“And there's nothing wrong with hanging out with humans. Powerglide even has a human girlfriend,” Tracks pointed out, folding his arms over his chest.

“Would you call Raoul your boyfriend?” Huffer responded.

“That's two questions and I don't have to answer the second one. And after your teasing, I'd definitely answer the first question yes.”

The other mechs were laughing as Tracks reached down and flicked the swivel-strut, sending it spinning on its mount. Somewhere back in the misty past, some mech had discovered that a detached swivel-strut made for an excellent random selection indicator, and shortly thereafter the game of “Quest, Question, or Command” was created.

And when the narrow end slowed to a stop pointing at Windcharger, the mech looked up at Tracks.

“Quest, Question, or Command?” Tracks asked.

“Quest. I haven't done one of those yet,” answered Windcharger optimistically.

“Hmmm...” Tracks looked about the rec-room, mostly empty since they were halfway through second shift, but then spotted a likely candidate. He pushed his nearly empty energon cube toward Windcharger. “Take this over to Mirage and have him put a splash of high-grade in it. He normally has some hidden away on him.”

“Can do,” said Windcharger. As far as a quest went it was a fairly simple one. He rose and took the cube over and everyone smiled when they saw Mirage set down his book and reach into subspace. And then footsteps drew their attention as Optimus entered, Red Alert, Prowl, and Ultraviolet with him. The party of four headed for the energon dispensers and grabbed some fuel and had settled a couple tables over by the time Windcharger returned, prize in hand. There would be no forfeit for him.

“Why thank you, Windcharger,” Tracks smiled. And then he lifted the cube and drank the fairly generous draught that had been obtained from Mirage.

Windcharger flicked the spinner and it spun hard before eventually slowing to a halt on the yellow datapad resting between Wheeljack and Tracks. He turned to Sideswipe next to him. “Pay up, Sides,” he said smugly.

“You're cheating,” challenged Huffer.

“Hardly,” Windcharger replied in response to the accusation. “If I were cheating, I'd do this.” The narrow end of the spinner suddenly jolted to point at the large pile of goldslips between himself and Sideswipe. City-issue Cybertronian currency had become worthless long before the departure for Earth and the packaged bits of gold had become the common currency of both the Autobots and Decepticons.

“Besides, you can hear it when he's using his ability,” said Bumblebee. “There's that little hum from his chest.”

“Thank you, Bumblebee,” Windcharger said, grateful to his fellow minibot for backing him up.

“Fine, fine,” huffed Sideswipe and he moved his one and only goldslip from his personal pile onto Windcharger's. 

Windcharger flicked the spinner again, and this time it halted on Wheeljack directly across the table from him. “Quest, Question, or Command?”

“Question,” responded Wheeljack without even deliberating.

“Darn, I was hoping you'd choose quest so I could get some of Mirage's high-grade.”

“I thought we were playing 'no repeats' tonight,” queried Huffer.

“Well yeah, but... Okay, so question...” Windcharger looked intently at Wheeljack. “Do you actually enjoy it when your inventions blow up?”

Wheeljack's helm fins glowed an embarrassed pink. “Um, well, maybe. It is more exciting when they do.”

The others all laughed as Wheeljack quickly hit the spinner.

The indicating end came to rest on the mech to his immediate right—Huffer. “Quest, Question, or Command.”

“Command.”

“Huffer, I command you to get up and sing that 'All the Single Ladies' song. And you have to dance too.”

The minbot looked terrified. “What! No!”

The others were all chortling and egging him on.

“C'mon Huffer! I know you know it. I heard you humming it the other day in the washracks,” Wheeljack laughed. The little engineer kept a top-forty radio station tuned in at his workstation and so was well-versed in Earth's popular music.

“I'll take it,” volunteered Sideswipe. “Five goldslips.”

“Any other mercenaries?” Huffer asked, looking a little less mortified. But even when no one responded he gladly slid five of his slips in Sideswipe's direction.

The frontliner jumped up from his seat and sang and danced, garnering applause and giggles. Even Optimus' party turned to watch. And when he finished there was more applause and a relieved-looking Huffer spun the swivel-strut. “Tracks again!” he exclaimed when it stopped on the blue warrior once more.

“Windcharger's definitely cheating,” exclaimed Sideswipe.

“Hey! I'm not even in on this round!” Windcharger protested.

“Quest, Question, or Command?”

Tracks looked worried. “Command.”

“Awww... no answer to that second question,” Wheeljack said quickly.

“I know,” sighed Bumblebee.

“Tracks, I command you to...” There was a menacing gleam in Huffer's optics. “I command you to take one of the mechs at this table and prove to him that you still prefer the company of your own kind in the berth.”

A collective gasp rose from the table, and Bumblebee was the first to call “Inappropriate!” before the others joined in.

Tracks stared open-mouthed at Huffer. “I can't believe you asked that,” he said calmly.

“But I did.” There was no shame in his tone of voice.

“I declare inappropriate,” said Bumblebee again, lightly slapping Huffer on the arm.

Tracks looked down at the pile of goldslips gathered next to the spinner in front of Wheeljack and Sideswipe. No one had had the fortune of their spin landing upon it yet. And then he reached for the pile and drew it back toward himself, bringing forth another round of gasps. And then he looked around the table, his optics wandering from face to face before returning to Sideswipe. “Sideswipe?”

“Your quarters or mine?” grinned the red frontliner.

Both mechs gathered up their slips and drinks and headed out, leaving everyone staring after them. Even Optimus and the others were amazed.

“Well then,” said Windcharger.

“I guess it's my turn since it would have been Tracks' spin and I'm to his right,” said Wheeljack. He reached for the spinner and sent it around hard. “Bumblebee! Quest, Question, or Command?”

“Ummmm... Question.”

“Did you get jealous when Tracks and Sideswipe went off together?”

The yellow minibot squeaked. “Ah, um...” Had he been jealous? And then he paused and thought back to what he'd been doing with Ultraviolet just the previous day. “No. Definitely, no,” he answered with a waxing grin. His night with Ultraviolet had spoiled him and he'd not want another mech for a long time.

He spun the indicator and at first he was excited when it appeared it would stop on the yellow datapad. But the indicator continued past, coming to rest in the empty space formerly occupied by Tracks.

“Hey, Prime. Quest, Question, or Command?” Wheeljack called teasingly. While the indicator pointed at no one at the table, Optimus was right in line with the tip.

“What? Am I playing now?”

“I guess you are,” Huffer laughed.

“Well, let's see. Ah, command.”

The remaining four players all wriggled with anticipation. “Pick something good, 'Bee,” Windcharger encouraged.

Bumblebee thought a moment. “Optimus Prime, I command you to...” His optics drifted to his beautiful lover of the previous day sitting at the table next to Prowl. Memories of all the joy and pleasure she'd brought in the night floated back. “I command you to sling Ultraviolet over your shoulder and carry her through the halls like that, all the way to your quarters.”

Optimus gasped and fumbled the cube of high-grade in his hand. Everyone else was laughing, and when Optimus moved to protest they all cheered him on.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Slinging Ultraviolet over his shoulder and carrying her back to his quarters... it somehow didn't end with Optimus setting down the femme and having a laugh and the two of them heading back to finish their conversations with Prowl and Red Alert.

The long walk—Ultraviolet wriggling around and laughing about her predicament, Optimus subjected to a lot of stares and image captures—ended with him setting Ultraviolet down and her somehow popping open the door to his quarters. And then she invited herself in, followed by her pouring some high-grade for the two of them. A quick slap at the computer console in his room somehow started some music playing.

“Ultraviolet?”

“Optimus?”

“I've fulfilled the command, so you can go back to the rec room.” He looked at the door, but it had already closed.

“That's not what your field is telling me to do. In fact quite the opposite.”

Optimus looked away, embarrassment now filling his field as well. “Ah, well, I'm sure you're used to it by now. I understand you've been quite popular in this new guise. The word 'distracting' seems to come up a lot around you, and I have now experienced why, firsthand.”

“So I am,” she giggled.

“And it was just a silly command,” he continued. “Give the others a bit of a laugh and something to enjoy.” There was a lot of flailing for the right thing to say, and he still didn't seem convinced that what he'd said to her was right.

Ultraviolet swayed her way over to the Autobot leader and handed him the goblet she'd filled for him. “Just because the command has been completed, you don't have to stop there. We both know that Bumblebee intended it as a playful joke, but you're welcome to take it seriously.”

Optimus felt a fritz of... of something... run through his systems and settle in his fuel tank. Seriously? Had Ultraviolet just propositioned him?

-o-o-o-o-o-

Optimus was currently peppering Ultraviolet with kisses, gently covering her from the swept-back antennae atop her head to the unusual twin toe-plates at the ends of her feet. 

“You know, you're very sexy without this hiding your face,” Ultraviolet purred. She'd removed the Prime's mask the moment things had begun to heat up between them. She dangled it from one finger.

“You know why I wear it,” said Optimus softly. One of his large hands was beneath her aft, and he suddenly lifted her hips to meet his mouth.

Ultraviolet went limp in his arms, a sigh of pleasure escaping her as his kisses found some of the most sensitive places on her frame. The mask fell from her hand and onto the bed. “Mmmm... Optimus.” She off-lined her optics and relaxed in the grip of her leader, indulging in the feeling of support and safety when in his care. And then she felt herself lifted again and repositioned, ending up sitting in Optimus' lap, his exposed spike pressing eagerly against her modesty panel. Lubricant already slicked the thick shaft. “Would you be all right with me taking you like this?” he asked, the tone of his voice sounding nearly shy. Despite being a strong, confident, determined leader who would charge almost foolishly into battle, Optimus was being infuriatingly tender in the berth.

“This would be perfect, Optimus,” Ultraviolet cooed, and she smiled as the much larger mech touched her cheek, one enormous hand brushing the delicate plating there before moving to cup the back of her head and press their faceplates together.

“Then I'll let you proceed at your own rate. I don't want to cause you any harm.”

Ultraviolet giggled. “Optimus. I'm not made of glass. Ratchet and Wheeljack know better than that.” She moved her hands to his shoulders, wriggling her aft to center herself above the spike below her.

“I'm a big mech, and you're not.”

“I've never been a big mech but I've been with plenty of big mechs,” she said, spinning the words playfully. “I think I can handle myself just fine.” The tone was one of reassurance, not rebuke. Slowly, Ultraviolet began to lower herself down, easing onto Optimus' considerable girth. At the halfway point, she paused, looking up into her leader's face.

He was holding himself perfectly still, his optics off and his expression betraying the tension of the moment. Ultraviolet smiled, remembering that face fondly. In earlier days, Jazz had spent much time in Optimus' berth, but after being stationed elsewhere for quite a while and several promotions, they'd never gotten back to it. Ultraviolet leaned back, one hand shifting to the larger mech's neck, and she continued to lower herself onto his spike. They both gasped as the tip of it shoved against the entrance to her gestational chamber.

Optimus' optics flared back to life and he looked into her face, worry evident. “Are you okay? That was... unexpected.”

“I'm more than okay, Prime,” Ultraviolet replied confidently.

And then Optimus smiled, taking in the pretty femme sitting so intimately upon him. “You're so perfect,” he whispered. The hand came up to caress her again and a bit of bending allowed their lips to meet. And then he wrapped his arms around Ultraviolet and pulled him tightly to his chest. “So perfect.”

“You have some very talented mechs working for you here,” Jazz said.

“It's more than that though,” Optimus said softly. “This frame is wonderful, but inside... I'm remembering how much fun Jazz and I used to have together. How good we were together.”

Ultraviolet sighed. “We just sort of drifted apart with the war.”

“Yes,” Optimus agreed sadly. And then he looked up into Ultraviolet's optics. “So thank you for this... for this moment together.”

“Thank you for agreeing,” Ultraviolet responded.

“Thank you for offering.” The big mech pulled her in tightly again, kissing her deeply and his hips grinding up into her accommodating valve. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the particular mech hidden inside the feminine frame. They'd been too concerned with the faction and the cause to even think about it.

“Optimus?” Ultraviolet panted as the kisses moved from her lips to her neck, the tenderness morphing into passion.

“Yes?”

“Would you take me like you used to? Up against the wall?” she managed between nips and bites to the cables there.

The Autobot leader's optics brightened in excitement, but his expression saddened. “Isn't that a bit too rough for you?”

“Naw. I can take it.”

And Ultraviolet did, her back pressed to the wall, her left knee looped over Optimus' right hand, her neck caught between his left hand and the deep-orange paneling, his spike pumping hard into her. This had been their favorite position long, long ago. And when they'd both overloaded, they slid down to rest on the floor, the femme cradled in the mech's encircling arms. “Maybe this will become a regular thing...” Optimus whispered into her audial. His circuits still rippled with escaping charge. “I hope so.”

“I hope so too,” Ultraviolet purred.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 10: "Prowl x Jazz II"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	10. Prowl x Jazz II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has a final mission briefing for Jazz, and a tempting offer.

Prowl looked up to see Ultraviolet standing in the doorway to his office. “Vi?”

“Just wanted to come down and get my final mission datapads. Skyfire and I take off at sunset.”

Prowl rose, moved to a locked cabinet, and opened the main panel. From a drawer he pulled out two datapads with deep fuchsia casings. From another drawer he pulled out an encryption key. “They're disguised as a couple of commercially produced romance novels. Slip in the key...” He held up the one labeled 'Surrender in Kaon' “...and you've got a map of Decepticon headquarters.” He held up the other, this one entitled 'Framed for Romance,” and it's everything we know about Shockwave's laboratories.

Ultraviolet grinned. The datapads looked like the sort of lurid novels that were passed around in earlier days, usually given away free by major corporations and containing advertising and product discounts between each chapter. Such were still passed around to alleviate boredom between battles. The wear on the casings suggested that they were the real thing. They probably were, but had been altered to contain the additional information.

Prowl handed the pair over and relocked the cabinet. “Feeling good about this?” he asked Ultraviolet.

“Very good, Sir.” Ultraviolet switched on the map pad and scrolled through the novel before inserting the key—no more than a thick pin that slipped into a rather innocuous-looking recharging port. A new advertisement window popped up surreptitiously in a lower corner. When Ultraviolet opened the advertisement for “FemmeFlor Perfumed White Grease” and hit the purchasing link, a whole lot of options came up that had nothing to do with femmes or perfumed joint lubricant.

Prowl looked over at their operative. “If successful, we'll gain a huge operational advantage.”

“We will.”

And then he cocked his head to the side. “Sure you want to go back to your old frame after this?”

Ultraviolet looked up at him. “I suppose I don't have to, but I'd need quite a few additional modifications made to this one, and I'm not sure if they'd fit this model.” She stroked her hand over the much smaller chest assembly. “I'm missing so much of my special equipment.”

“True. But you're no less valuable to the cause without it.”

“I feel like I am.” She withdrew the encryption key and shut down the pad. “Besides, I think I'd be too much of a distraction around here on a regular basis.”

Prowl's doorwings twitched. “I have to agree there. You are rather distracting.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The datapads lying forgotten on Prowl's desk, Ultraviolet's black-enameled hands gripped the edge of the same. Her chestplate rubbed against it with every dry push from Prowl. He was teasing her, and had been for some time. “Please Prowl,” Ultraviolet begged. “Just take me already.”

“Something you want, Vi?”

“Yes,” she whimpered back.

Prowl aligned his still-shut array with the dripping valve before him, Ultraviolet's biolights pulsing with charge and need. “I'm going to direct-dock into you, all right?”

“Just do it,” she squeaked.

Prowl snapped open the cover and his spike extended right into her depths, penetrating her in one smooth motion.

“Ooooohhh... Prowl. Always so precise.” She wriggled her aft a little, enjoying the sweet stroking from the inside. “Now 'face me like you're going to miss me.”

“I already miss you,” he responded.

She pushed back against him, and in return he gave her aft a quick slap. She gasped and he canted his hips to find her ceiling node. She moaned and he began to pump into her. She lifted her front end and he grabbed her hips for more control over his thrusting from behind. “Prowl! Ooh Prowl! Howcome it never felt like this before?”

“Sure you want to go back?”

“You know I'll have to...”

The hips continued to pound away, the desk creaking beneath them. Thankfully it was bolted to the floor and wouldn't be going anywhere.

“If I get you sparked, you'll be stuck in this frame for a while,” Prowl said through gritted denta.

“You wouldn't! Not right before a mission. You know better than that.”

“I do, but once you're home you'll be fair game. You know I'd love you carrying for me. Femmes carry so much more easily.”

“I'd love to carry for you, Prowl,” Ultraviolet moaned just as the SIC's spike bumped against the entrance to her gestational chamber.

The idea of a full bond with Jazz was too hot to handle. Prowl cried out, his back arching and his circuits exploding. As his frame went rigid his spike swelled, locking against against the calipers of Ultraviolet's valve. With a deeper cry it began to flood her with silvery transfluid, coating her depths. “Open your gates for me,” he begged in a strangled tone. “Open...”

Ultraviolet continued to clutch the edge of the desk. If things were different... If she weren't about to head out on this mission. If she and Prowl were bonded... If the war wasn't potentially about to hit a major turning point, one that pivoted on the success of this mission.

The cascade failure of a hard overload finally reached his brain module and Prowl collapsed forward against Ultraviolet's aft. And then he listed to the side before falling onto the desk and then slipping to the floor.

Ultraviolet took a few deep ventilations, feeling the now warm air of the office running through her vents. She squeezed her calipers but his transfluid still slipped away, the metallic lifeblood running away and dripping onto the desk.

If only...

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 11: "Skyfire x Jazz"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	11. Skyfire x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyfire and Jazz head for Cybertron, but a worked-up Skyfire insists upon an unscheduled stop on the way. The femme's presence seems to be affecting him far more than he'd expected.
> 
> (Author note: I love this chapter! Skyfire's adorable.)

“Uh, Ultraviolet?” Skyfire asked.

“Hmm?” She looked up from the datapad she'd been engrossed in.

“There's a space station ahead. I'm going to stop there. It's, ah, kinda a nice place.”

“Oh?”

“You don't mind do you? Just for about eight cycles or so. I, ah, well, I could use a little alone time and some recharge afterward.”

Ultraviolet giggled. “A bit of alone time?” she teased.

Skyfire was silent for a while before finally speaking. “Ah, Ultraviolet? I kinda need some alone time because of you.”

“Because of me? Am I that bad of company?” she asked sincerely.

“No... not like that. It's just that... for the past four days you've been squirming around in my seats and on the passenger berths and stretching and bending and rubbing all over me. It's... It's distracting to say the least.”

Prowl had used that same descriptor for her presence. “Oh... I see. I suppose I should have had Ratchet put me into stasis for the journey.”

“No, no. It's just that... well... Look, we'll just stop for a while and I'll rent a room and take care of things. If you want I'll get a room for you too.”

“How about we just get one room and I'll show you how much more distracting I can be.”

Again Skyfire was silent for a while. “Are you teasing me?”

A solitary black finger trailed slowly down the instrument panel. “I'm making an offer.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Space Station Orlan-Orlan was a neutral wayside stopping point where spacefarers of any species or creed were welcome, provided they obeyed the neutrality policies and behaved themselves. Fuel and food and a wide variety of services were available. Skyfire soon had a room hired and was leading the femme down a hallway, physical need making his circuits sizzle and quickening his steps. Despite his looks and charm no one had yet become Starscream's replacement in his life and he'd slept alone ever since joining the Autobots.

Coming to the right door, he typed in the entry code and the heavy panel slid back. “I'm going to shower first to get the spacedust off,” he said as the lights in the room came on. “I got a room with a washrack.” 

He stood aside to allow Ultraviolet to enter first, gesturing for her to do so. Again he felt that twinge of eagerness beneath his interfacing panel as he watched the fabulous frame stroll in ahead of him. Or was it an ache? Or was it excitement? The way her aft wiggled saucily reminded him of the seekers he'd known and known intimately. And when she bent over the bed and prodded the mattress he knew it was simply lust stirring him up, at least at this point.

“Want to scrub my wings?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Ultraviolet climbed upon the bed and wriggled up against the pillows. “I think I'll just relax here for now... this berth is awfully comfortable.”

For a moment the shuttle debated skipping the shower and flinging himself upon the femme. She'd been working him up for days now. “I won't be long.” He rushed for the other door in the room, which had to be the washrack, and hurriedly got to bathing. Warmth and pressure was already building in his interfacing array, and he quickly opened it to wash his equipment thoroughly. And as he went over his spike with the cleanser he suddenly worried that perhaps the slender femme wouldn't be able to handle his size. No. Surely she could. Femmes were built to accept all sizes. Ratchet certainly wouldn't have given Jazz a new frame without that consideration.

Skyfire finished his wash and dried off quickly and went back into the main room. Ultraviolet was still on the bed, now stretched out on her front, her head propped up in her hands. “Ready for this?” she asked with a cute tilt of her head.

“You've had me ready for the past three days of the journey,” he admitted.

Ultraviolet giggled and rolled onto her back, her head hanging off the edge and looking up at the big jet. “I'll try to be a better passenger for the rest of it.”

He used the last of his restraint to hold himself back just a little longer. “Ah, Ultraviolet, I just need to ask you if you've ever been with a shuttle-frame before.”

Ultraviolet grinned, knowing to what he was referring. “Is it true what they say about certain proportions?”

Skyfire opened his modesty panel, the entire length of his spike springing out in testament to that readiness.

Ultraviolet's mouth fell open, and she looked from Skyfire's spike up to it's owner, and then back to the massive length. And then she rolled back over and got up onto her knees on the bed, still staring. “I knew shuttles were big, but not that big!” And this was Jazz speaking. He'd been with a few courier-jets in his day, but never a shuttle-frame.

Suddenly embarrassed of his huge tool, Skyfire brought his hands around to hide what obviously seemed a monstrosity to the relatively small femme. Yes, he had been large to start with, as all shuttles were. But Starscream had insisted on a few modifications over the course of their relationship that had made it heavier and bulkier. The head had been given a longer, more flared point. The shaft had been implanted with a series of electrified ridges. The base had even been fitted with a small knotting mod. “If it's too much, I don't have to use it on you. In fact, we don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll understand.”

Ultraviolet's mouth closed and then stretched into a lecherous smile. “If you try to leave without using that thing on me, you'll know just how skilled of a saboteur I can be.”

It was Skyfire's turn to be caught by surprise. “You're okay with this? Starscream had me pretty heavily modded.” He parted his hands and looked down at it. How had Starscream ever managed to talk him into what now seemed ridiculous?

“I'm very, very okay with this,” she grinned. “Now come over here.” Her optics did not leave Skyfire as he switched off most of the lights in the room and went to sit on the bed. Ultraviolet crawled over to him, pressing herself against his arm and kissing him on the side of his helm. Her hands moved to his torso and she pushed him down and crawled onto his thighs. “I want this. I really want this. In fact if I'd known the day you joined the faction, I would have...” Somehow the grin became rather wicked, finishing the statement for her. Jazz was speaking again.

Ultraviolet lifted herself, opening her panel as she did, and placed her already wet valve atop the wide head, nestling the tip into her plush purple folds of mesh.

Skyfire groaned as the femme started to sink down onto the shaft. He could feel her calipers spreading and the tight pressure of the sensory nodes wedging between them. It was amazing and he worried that he'd be overloading before even before she'd seated herself. His hands moved to her hips, steadying her descent. And he groaned again when he felt the tight rim of her valve expand as it began to slip over the knotting mod.

That was when he became aware of her reaction to all this. Ultraviolet was laughing and moaning and shaking in pleasure. Her hands braced on his arms. Her head was thrown back and her optics were off. “Oh... so amazing. So amazing.” And when she dropped over the knot, already beginning to swell from excitement, she cried out in the sweetest pain.

“Ultraviolet? Are you all right?” Skyfire managed.

She laughed ecstatically again. “I don't think I'll ever be all right again. This feels even more amazing than it looks. I think you've ruined me to all other mechs for life.”

“If you're sure you're all right. I don't want to be hurting you.”

“Skyfire, stop worrying. I'm very sure. I'm not going to last long, but I'm very sure.”

She rocked against him, and how wonderful it felt, that tight valve clenching and fluttering around his spike. In all his worry over Ultraviolet's comfort, he'd forgotten to pursue his own pleasure, and suddenly realized how close he was as well. Her hands now latched onto his chestplate and it was an amazing sight. This was how Starscream used to ride him, and he loved watching it then as much as he was loving watching it now.

“Sky... I'm so close... so close already,” Ultraviolet mewled.

“I think I can tip you over the edge,” he gasped in response. His hands took the femme's hips, cupping them underneath her aft and he lifted her up, the knot sliding out of her valve, and then sliding back in again as he thrust his own hips up to meet her.

Ultraviolet's first response was a cry of surprise. When he pulled out again and thrust in anew, she gave a moan of “Oh, Primus! Frag me, Sky! Frag me good!” Each repeat earned a bleat of pained pleasure until the femme was screaming his name in overload.

That was enough to tip Skyfire over the edge as well, and as she was screaming in the throes of pleasure, he came as well, flooding her spasming valve with spurt after spurt of transfluid.

Gradually their motions slowed, and Ultraviolet ended up slumping onto Skyfire's chestplate, her overheated frame twitching against his cockpit, static-laced purrs of completion rumbling against his plating. Skyfire's hands blanketed her, and he lay there basking in the feelings of his own completion as well as the sensations coming in from the now fully expanded knot. They were locked together now, trapped into cuddling. Not that he minded. And Ultraviolet didn't seem to mind either. She suddenly took in a deep vent of air, releasing it with happy sigh. “I'll have to thank Starscream the next time I see him,” she mumbled blissfully.

Skyfire smiled to himself, and he wondered how long they could stall on this mission to spend a few more days in guilty pleasure at Orlan-Orlan.

-o-o-o-o-o--

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in chapter 12: "Devcon x Jazz"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	12. Devcon x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultraviolet unexpectedly encounters another Autobot on Space Station Orlan-Orlan, and the chemistry between them is amazing. 
> 
> Devcon was a great one-shot character whom most of us hoped would appear again in G1. No such luck. But I did put him into this smutty little story--may his fans enjoy!

On what was supposed to be a quick stopover at Orlan-Orlan he'd spotted the pretty Cybertronian femme buying fuel, and immediately went over to introduce himself. And when she turned at his greeting he was thrilled to note the red Autobot brand upon her chest. Putting forth his best gentlemanly behavior he'd purchased the fuel for her and a couple servings of high-grade as well. Then they'd sat together in a window booth sipping the high-grade and getting acquainted. “I'm here with another Autobot on a mission, but I can't tell you more than that,” she'd said with a coy smile. He'd purchased a couple more drinks for them, and somehow the intelligent conversation had devolved into flirting. Next thing he knew he was at one of the station hotels hiring a bit of privacy for them.

“Dev! Harder! Get that thing deeper!” Ultraviolet demanded. She hugged the pillow underneath her, aft in the air where the Autobot hunter was pounding into it.

“You're insatiable,” hissed Devcon, his spike thrusting again and again into the clenching valve. 

“Better insatiable than unsatisfying!” she spat back.

Devcon gave her aft a sharp slap, generating an indignant cry. Somehow after a few rounds in the berth he was no longer a gentleman, but then again she was no longer a lady. “Don't make me teach you a lesson, femme.”

“You want a lesson? Let me get out my spike and show you how it's done!” Ultraviolet retorted.

Devcon chuckled confidently, and then shifted his position so that his spike jabbed hard against the pressure sensors just inside the rim of her valve while the hand that had been on her stomach shifted, allowing his fingers to rub at the outer node.

Ultraviolet cried out in pleasure at the new trick.

“You like that, sweetspark?” he asked, his frame folded against hers.

“Oooh... Dev... It's so good!”

Devcon laughed at her submission and kept up the new position as her valve clenched hard, disappointed that he was no longer filling her, only teasing at the shallowest nodes, but it wasn't long before she was close to overloading again.

“Dev! Dev! Go deeper. Finish me!” she begged.

“Tell me you love me,” he hissed.

“I love what you're doing to me. But do it deeper.”

“You might love my spike, but you have to love me too.” Devcon thrust in hard again and held himself there, causing the grey and white femme to groan in deep pleasure.

“Make me overload and I will love you.”

“So be it, then.”

He rearranged them again so that she was now on her back at the edge of the berth, one leg on the floor and one leg over his shoulder. He sat on the edge as well, his spike deep inside her and one hand rubbing at her outer node. She still clung to the pillow, squashing it as he returned to his thrusting.

“Dev! Oh frag, Dev! I'm so close. Do it! Yes! I'm overloading! Oh! Dev!” Her panted words became a long cry of release as she reached her climax, soaking the berth with lubricants and strangling the pillow beneath her one arm. And as her high began to fade, he quickly rolled her onto her back and kept his hips bucking until he joined her in bliss.

The two somehow ended up with Devcon lying atop Ultraviolet, lips exchanging playful little kisses. “You're amazing,” he breathed.

“So are you,” she replied. Of course she'd had quite a few amazing and interesting partners since Jazz had made the transformation, Skyfire most recently, and it wasn't like Jazz had had a dull sex life before that.

Devcon's spike was still sheathed in her valve, and around it she could feel the wash of his transfluid. “We should see about getting you transferred to work with me after you complete your mission. If we're this good in the berth together, just imagine how good we'd be as working partners.”

Ultraviolet grinned and ran the tip of her glossa over Devcon's lips. “I don't think my superior officers are about to let me go.”

The hunter chuckled. “If I were your superior officer, I wouldn't let you go either.” He wrapped his arms around her and crushed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. His hips began to move once more, the hunter's blue spike slipping in and out of Ultraviolet's sticky valve.

“Again?”

“If I don't get to keep you, I'd better enjoy you while I can.”

 

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Codename: Ultraviolet" continues in Chapter 13: " Firestar x Jazz"

-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. Firestar x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultraviolet delivers that very personal gift from Inferno, and then Firestar decides to reward the courier.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Skyfire arrived on Cybertron, landing in an area distant from Elita One's base—distant but not disconnected. Underneath the city, long sections of the transit lines and utility corridors remained intact. The Cybertronian crew could secretively ferry the shuttle and the agent in. On arriving at headquarters, Elita One and Alpha Trion greeted the them happily. “Welcome aboard, Ultraviolet,” smiled the pink Autobot commander with a warm grasping of hands. “It's good to have you with us.”

“Optimus knew I'd be in good company here,” smiled the spy.

While Elita One, Chromia, and Alpha Trion knew her true identity, it had been kept a secret from the other femmes. They now crowded around her, welcoming her with soft touches and even a few hugs. “I have messages for a few of you from the mechs on Earth,” she announced. “And Skyfire's full of supplies and gifts for everyone. There's energon, and even some high-grade.”

The femmes all squealed in joy as they turned to the shuttle, the big mech standing shyly to the side with Alpha Trion now. “You have high-grade for us?” Lancer asked boldly.

Skyfire nodded and knelt, seeing the femmes approaching. “They're distilling it now on Earth, and they wanted to share.”

More excited squeals filled the large room.

“It's in my cargo hold. I'll transform and you can unload everything.” The shuttle did just that and opened the large pockets in his sides. There was much delighted chatter as the femmes began to empty him of all the crates the contingent on Earth had sent.

Elita One beamed. The generous gifts would be a huge morale boost for her crew, and the enthusiasm over a new member would also bolster their spirits.

“We can have a party,” cried Chromia on opening one of the crates filled with cubes of high-grade, a suggestion that was met with continued glee.

“Later,” Elita One spoke. “First let's get Ultraviolet settled in her quarters, and then show her around a bit, shall we?” 

-o-o-o-o-o-

The party that night was much like any the mechs on Earth threw—music, dancing, drinking, games—except that there were no Earth songs in the mix of music and there weren't any decorations. Elita One sat with Ultraviolet, a cube of high-grade in each's hand, the pair watching the boisterous fun. It was good to see everyone in such high spirits. The femmes had become overcharged quite quickly, being unused to such potent and plentiful fuel. Alpha Trion was equally guilty and the ancient mech wasn't behaving nearly as reserved and sagely as Jazz remembered him. To Ultraviolet's surprise, he was currently on the dance floor with the other femmes, moving with the music with as much enthusiasm as the rest.

“Ultraviolet?” asked a voice.

She looked up to see Firestar standing beside her. 

“Inferno sent a note in my packet that said you were carrying a personal gift for me?” 

Ultraviolet smiled. “Well yes, he did. He insisted that I deliver it to you in person.”

She sat down quickly beside the newest member of the team. “Ooh, what did he send me?” she asked excitedly.

Ultraviolet looked quickly about. Elita was currently distracted by something on the dance floor. “Ahhh... it really is something of a rather personal nature. Would you mind if we went back to your quarters?” she asked quietly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Firestar came back online slowly, moaning as she woke. “Oh wow... That was amazing,” she purred, her optics flickering with lingering bliss.

“Inferno insisted that I do it just like that.”

The red femme sighed and nuzzled into the much repaired covers on the berth. Ultraviolet suddenly realized how rough things had gotten for the femmes on Cybertron. The patches were at least of close to the same color though clearly from a different piece of cloth. “It was amazing. Thank you for the delivery.”

Ultraviolet smiled. “My pleasure.”

“More like mine,” the red warrior retorted. Still wobbling, she raised herself into a sitting position. “Maybe I should reward the messenger.”

“You don't have to,” Ultraviolet answered, but followed with a quick rejoinder. “Though I wouldn't mind.”

Firestar grinned, and Ultraviolet knew the look—that same hungry expression Inferno had fixed her with back on Earth. She was amazed how close the two red Autobots were in personality.

The warrior femme leaned toward Ultraviolet, bracing herself on one arm, the other coming to rest upon Ultraviolet's knee. “Anything in particular you'd like to be rewarded with?” she leered.

“It's been a long time since I've been with a femme. Why don't you show me what the girls around here like best.”

Strong fingers slid up the warm metal between Ultraviolet's legs. “I think I could do that,” Firestar whispered seductively, cupping her hand over Ultraviolet's array. “Open for me?” she asked with a deceptive sweetness.

Ultraviolet obeyed, a sheen of lubricant betraying how eager she was for a reward.

Firestar began to rub at the mesh inside the moment it was bared to her, and when she spread the mesh apart between her fingers she realized how wet Ultraviolet had become in anticipation. With a smile she leaned in further and placed a kiss upon Ultraviolet's anterior node, but then seized it between her denta and pulled gently.

“Firestar... you're such a naughty femme,” Ultraviolet whimpered between gasps.

“I think you're the naughty one, berthing my lover,” Firestar teased, her lip components moving around the captured sensor bud.

“He's the one that invited me in,” Ultraviolet countered. “And when he was done with me, he just fragged Red Alert right there on the same berth. And after Red overloaded, he just shoved him aside and started pounding me.”

“He's definitely the naughty one for that. Always was insatiable when it came to interfacing.” Firestar wriggled her tongue against the captive node, glancing up to watch the new arrival's reaction. When Ultraviolet moaned and tried to squirm away she relented and let the prisoner component go. “Definitely the naughty one.” She shifted position and slid two long fingers into Ultraviolet's valve, easing them back and forth. “I feel sorry for Red Alert. But more than that I feel jealous that Red gets to be with him on Earth.”

“I know he misses you. And when you're together again, perhaps you and Red can make him behave,” Ultraviolet suggsted, trying hard to concentrate despite the amazing stimulation Firestar was providing. Her purple visor brightened to an electric-lavender hue as the charge rose. Firestar continued to massage her valve, the luxurious violet folds now dripping with so much lubricant that thick droplets slid down her wrist and dripped onto the threadbare mattress cover. The fingers continued pumping in and out slowly, moving gradually deeper.

Nearly overwhelmed by the wonderful sensations, Ultraviolet lifted her hips off of the berth and balanced on her flexible toes, her hands gripping the mattress for support. Her orange bio-lights brightened and pulsed. “Firestar,” she wailed as the fingers discovered another set of pressure nodes, triggering the closest calipers to clench down voraciously. “I'm so close...”

“Overload for me,” was the encouraging response. The hand twisted and suddenly a thumb was pressed to the pulsing anterior node.

Ultraviolet bit her lip, the heat rising in her frame. Firestar was absolutely amazing at this. She might consider just ditching the quarters she'd been given and shacking up with Inferno's lover. “I'm going to,” she whined.

Firestar rubbed the exterior sensors just a bit harder and faster, and then suddenly began to pump her fingers into Ultraviolet with intense speed.

“Firestar!” Ultraviolet wailed and the oncoming overload crashed hard into her, Firestar coaxing the peak of her ecstasy to what seemed an impossible length. “Firestar!” she gasped out, her world suddenly going white.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	14. Moonracer x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultraviolet delivers Powerglide's break-up letter to Moonracer. Turns out it's the best break-up ever.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Ultraviolet knew that Moonracer would be heartbroken, and so she felt obliged to remain with the Autobot sniper after presenting the letter from Powerglide. She watched sadly as Moonracer's pale lip components parted with a soft gasp, and then as tears pooled in femme's optics, and then as Moonracer set the datapad down upon the table in front of them and began to cry into her hands.

Ultraviolet put one arm around the other femme's shoulders and with the opposite hand held one of Moonracer's, squeezing it now and then. She pulled the other femme in close, holding her until Moonracer's sorrows slowed and she slumped against the darker femme's side. After a while Ultraviolet pulled out at towel and wiped their plating, thoroughly splashed with optic wash. When she moved on to wiping the bench beneath them, the mint green femme whimpered. “I've been waiting so long for him. Six octads. But now he's...” The rest of the sentence disappeared in fresh shudders and sobs.

Ultraviolet patted her shoulder, but Moonracer rose and paced her quarters in despair. “I didn't even take a lover in that time. Most of the others in this unit have been in and out of relationships again and again. But I didn't. I didn't because...” She never explained why, simply breaking down into another shower of tears as she paced.

“I should go,” Ultraviolet said quietly. “Unless there's anything I can do for you.”

Moonracer's expression suddenly shifted from despair to desperation. “Please, don't leave me.” She rushed over and took Ultraviolet by the shoulder, sitting at her side. “I don't think I can bear to be alone right now. Just...” Blue optics searched the purple visor. “Just stay for a while longer.”

“I can stay if you'd like,” Ultraviolet responded generously. It was the truth. The mission proper wouldn't begin for an orn as the Autobot agent made a few reconnaissance trips and final preparations, and the first of those was still two days away. 

“I think I could use a drink first,” Moonracer said, rushing to grab a towel from the sink and wiping off her latest tears. And then she produced a partial cube of high-grade, one Ultraviolet recognized as having been left over from the party. She fetched two glasses and filled them sparingly.

“Would you like to talk about it? Or talk about something else?” Ultraviolet asked as she was handed the glass.

“Tell me something comforting,” the mint-green femme requested.

A sliver of a smile coursed Ultraviolet's lips. “I'll tell you something comforting. Mechs outnumber femmes fifteen to one. Powerglide's a fool to have dumped you.”

Moonracer gave a weak smile. “I guess he is.”

Ultraviolet tucked her own towel, still crumpled in her hand, back into a pocket. “Anything else?”

Moonracer froze, peering into her drink, deliberating what she wanted. “I think... I think I don't actually want to talk about it, or anything. I just want to be distracted for a while until I can deal with this.” She looked up hopefully at Ultraviolet. “I have some old holovids of my favorite comedy show. Could we watch some?”

“That sounds distracting.”

The two femmes made themselves comfortable on the berth as there was no couch in the room, just the bench, and Ultraviolet noted that its covers were a little less shabby than those in Firestar's quarters. Moonracer plugged in a entertainment cartridge and when the menu came up, Ultraviolet recognized the title screen of an old wartime comedy series entitled “The Misadventures at Starbase Six.” It had been a neutral production from one of the colonies about a Decepticon space station fraught with mishap and plagued by strange visitors and subject to all sorts of shenanigans. The characters—a Decepticon captain and his crew of misfits—had become iconic over the course of four-hundred and seventeen episodes.

They watched and laughed for a long time, thoroughly enjoying the outlandish schemes and twisting plots and tomfoolery, but after eleven episodes, Ultraviolet noticed that Moonracer was growing tired, and that she herself was as well. When Moonracer's helm dipped in recharge, Ultraviolet quietly arranged her on the bed and pulled the thermal blanket over her.

“Don't go,” Moonracer pleaded sleepily as Ultraviolet switched off the monitor. “Please stay, will you? At least until I fall asleep?”

“All right,” Ultraviolet agreed, and on checking the lock on the door, she slipped into the berth beside Moonracer.

“You're such a good friend,” the pretty pale green femme sighed, snuggling into Ultraviolet after she'd settled. “I hardly know you, and I think you're wonderful. Unlike some people I could mention.”

Ultraviolet said nothing but put an arm around Moonracer.

“I loved Powerglide so much, but he never felt the same way about me.” She sighed deeply. “I suppose I just set myself up for this.”

“You'll be fine,” came the whisper, and Ultraviolet kissed her atop her helm.

“Eventually. It's not the first time someone's broken up with me. Probably won't be the last either.”

“Get some recharge. You'll feel a little better in the morning. And a little better the morning after that. And even better every day after.”

Moonracer's optics, off since before Ultraviolet had joined her in the bed, switched on and she stared into the purple visor. “Would you kiss me again?” she asked sheepishly. “That felt nice.”

Ultraviolet obliged her and kissed her on the cheek.

“Powerglide was at least a decent kisser. He'd drop his mask and suddenly his mouth would be all over me. I know I'll miss that a lot. Well, I have been missing it a lot.” She sighed again. “I've been missing it for a long time.”

Ultraviolet took the hint and kissed her again in the same place, and the warm hum from Moonracer followed encouraged her to comfort her with more of the same. When their lips met though, Ultraviolet suddenly paused and pulled back. “Is this all right?”

“It feels nice. You have such gentle lip components,” Moonracer responded softly.

“You think so?” Ultraviolet's purple visor dimmed.

Moonracer's optics dimmed as well as she felt one kiss follow another. “I love it when you cuddle me too.”

“Do you like this?” Dental points scraped lightly over her faceplate, and then over fingers that were brought up to Ultraviolet's mouth.

“Mmmm,” the femme whispered. “I'm not a medic, but I do have sensitive hands.”

“Where else are you sensitive?” Ultraviolet asked, a faint hint of deviance in her tone. “I could distract you there as well, if you're not too sleepy.”

“My neck cables... though everyone's neck cables are, right?”

“Is there anywhere you're sensitive that no one else is?”

“There is, but it's silly...”

“Tell me.”

Moonracer grimaced as Ultraviolet continued to kiss her fingers, eventually taking one into her mouth and sucking on the tip. “My... mmmmmph... my shoulder joints are strangely sensitive.”

Ultraviolet of course moved her mouth to test this revelation, and Moonracer was indeed correct. The mint-green femme was suddenly gasping and writhing and trembling in pleasure. “Oh... Ultraviolet... that's so good... so...”

Ultraviolet knew she'd really hit a sensitive spot when Moonracer's modesty panel suddenly slid open with a squelchy ping. “You really are sensitive there,” she commented.

“I'm sorry... It's just... ah!... oh! You're so good with your glossa,” Moonracer moaned.

“Want to see what else I'm good at? If you're not too sleepy that is.”

“Mmm, yes,” she said, the tone nearly that of begging. “I think I'm waking back up actually.”

Ultraviolet's fans spun up as she opened her own array, her spike rising immediately. Her attentions to Moonracer's shoulder did not cease even as she pushed her spike into the waiting valve, surprisingly slick with lubricant.

“Oh... Ultraviolet! You're amazing.” She wrapped her arms tight around the newest member of the team and squeezed. “I never want to let you go.”

Ultraviolet slid her spike in and out of the tight mesh, her thrusts urged on by Moonracer's hot moans and cries of delight.

“Please! Make me forget him. Oh, make me forget that cocky aft.”

“Gladly.” Ultraviolet leaned in and kissed the sniper. “Just don't let me ruin you from considering anyone else.”

“I was hoping you would,” Moonracer panted back. Her optics going dark, she let her spike extend between them, and on seeing this, Ultraviolet changed her angle so that her stomach region would grind against its shaft. “Oooh that's so good,” Moonracer slurred as her spike was squeezed between them. “Soooooo good.”

“Are you close to overload?” Ultraviolet asked in a low tone.

“I think so... Ooooh I do think so,” she moaned, her one free hand running over whatever of Ultraviolet's plating that she could touch.

“Then come for me,” was the sweet response as Ultraviolet stabbed the tip of her glossa into a cluster of nodes she'd found in the other femme's shoulder. An early brush of her finger had confirmed that over-stimulation would probably be enough to trigger an overload were the rest of her all charged up, and she'd left it alone since in anticipation of this moment. Her glossa now wriggled frantically against the cluster, doing just that. Moonracer screamed unintelligible bliss into the heavy air of her berthroom as Ultraviolet thrust both tongue and spike into her mercilessly.

The overload tore through Moonracer's every system, shaking her to the core in a long-denied pleasure. Ultraviolet kept at it, bringing her to fulfillment and then chasing down her own overload. And when that eventually came and played out, the pair collapsed onto the berth, a hot, tangled mess.

When she could gather her thoughts again, Moonracer managed to get an arm around Ultraviolet and hugged her tightly. “That was the best break-up ever,” she sighed into Ultraviolet's audial.

-o-o-o-o-o-


	15. Acid Storm x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ultraviolet and Lancer are sent out to repair a communications antenna but are caught by a couple of seekers. Jazz learns a horrible truth about the situation of the femmes on Cybertron. Warning: Non-con/Dub-con in this chapter.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Almost done,” Lancer announced, a feeling of relief in the statement.

“Good. I'm glad it went well,” Ultraviolet hummed. Ever since arriving at the damaged antenna array she'd had a strange feeling, almost as if this were a trap. And there was a good chance that it was. She'd kept her pistol at the ready and her sensors on full scan. But no trap had been sprung upon them. Cybertron remained as disturbingly quiet as ever.

There were more clicks and pings from inside the control panel as Lancer worked, and then she made a pleased noise. “All right. Just have to close up now.” She shut and locked the panel, and together the two of them heaped some of the debris around it and disturbed the dust to hide their tracks. 

“Not perfect, but passable,” Ultraviolet appraised. She'd volunteered to go out with Lancer on the repair mission once she'd seen that the antenna was within sight of Shockwave's compound. It would be another good opportunity to ingrain herself with Elita's contingent and to become more familiar with the area.

“The wind and rain will take care of the rest. Now let's get back to the base,” the green femme said, dropping into her alt-mode.

“Gladly.” Ultraviolet dropped into hers and followed the femme out, wondering at the apprehension in her field. It hadn't been there earlier. Was she picking up on something as well?

And that something turned out to be a pair of tetrajets dropping out of the sky not long afterward, descending quickly and firing upon them. The femmes did their best to escape but in trying to avoid the weaponsfire, Ultraviolet's tire caught on a broken piece of the roadway and was flipped over, momentum rolling her over several times.

“Violet!” Lancer screamed as she saw what happened, unable to prevent it.

“Lancer!” Ultraviolet screamed as she slammed into the roadwall and came to an abrupt stop.

Lancer turned back, rolled to Ultraviolet's side, and transformed. “Vi! Answer me!”

Ultraviolet transformed and wobbled to her feet, Lancer supporting her. “Oh that hurt...” the grey and white femme moaned. “I'm so dizzy.”

“We have to get to some cover. The jets are just turning around now. But they'll be back for us in astroseconds!” Without further ado she yanked Ultraviolet from the roadway and pulled her into a convenient underpass. “Shut down as much as you can. They'll be scanning for us,” she instructed and withdrew her blaster.

“This happens often, doesn't it?” Ultraviolet asked, suddenly realizing how familiar Lancer seemed to be with what apparently needed to be done. She wished her gyros would hurry up and recalibrate, but the tumble had been a bad one and it would take some time. Jazz's frame had a highly modified balance system that would have had him back on his feet in moments, battered but ready to roll. Ultraviolet's did not.

“Shhhhh! Keep quiet!” Lancer hissed.

In the tense silence Ultraviolet checked herself over, even as the spinning feeling persisted. But thankfully to her discovery, besides a ruined tire and bent axle most of the damage was superficial. Plenty of dents and scrapes from her spill on the road, all of which could be easily dealt with. The wheel and axle would take some hammering back into shape before she was road-worthy again, but at least it wouldn't take too much work. And ironically, Wheeljack's parting gift to her had been a second set of tires—Pirellis no less. The humans knew little about Cybertronian needs, but they did know how to make amazing tires.

They listened as the jets passed over a few times. Lancer rose and moved to the other side of the underpass, withdrawing her weapon. And then came the sound of the jets landing and transforming. Ultraviolet quickly got her own blaster out again and switched it to readiness.

Moments later the two seekers were there at the edges of the underpass, one on either side. “You're surrounded, ladies,” hollered the blue one, brandishing the guns on his arms.

“It's your lucky day,” said the other, something insidious in his tone.

“So what'll it be? Your freedom? Or a visit to Shockwave?”

“Neither!” screeched Lancer, firing at the green seeker, but a quick hit from the blue one struck her.

Ultraviolet fired as well, but her aim was off from the accident and her shots went astray.

Lancer fell to the ground twitching, obviously having been struck with a null ray.

“Weapons down!” shouted the green seeker, his guns trained on Ultraviolet now.

She lowered her blaster and both seekers advanced on her, hauling her to her feet. “We've not seen you around here before,” said the blue one, looking her up and down. “Elita bring in some fresh recruits for us to play with?”

Ultraviolet kept silent as the two were looking her over, and the excitement and sudden desire in their fields had risen in favor of the aggressiveness of the moments past.

“Look how pretty she is,” breathed the blue seeker, taking both of her wrists into one of his hands. “I Wonder where Elita found you...”

“She's like a pleasurebot,” replied the other.

“Well have they told you what happens if we catch you? About the choice?”

Ultraviolet looked to Lancer, who was still unconscious on the ground. And then she shook her head. “What choice?”

“Well sweetspark, it's like this. If we catch you outside of Kaon, we're kind enough to give you a choice. We can either take you to Shockwave for interrogation or experimentation or hacking or whatever he's got in mind at the moment. Or you can let us have a little fun with your frame instead, and then we let you go. You have to be cooperative though.”

Ultraviolet's gyros finally finished recalibrating and she suddenly felt normal again. “So, if I let you 'face me, you'll not take me back to Kaon?”

“That's the deal,” grinned the green Decepticon. “It's much quicker and much less worrisome and much less work than going back to Iacon.” At that point he noticed that Lancer was coming back online and he quickly cuffed her hands behind her back. Then he stomped on her rifle, crushing it beyond repair.

“So, either I take my chances with Shockwave, or allow you to defile me?”

“Oooh... defile you. What sort of stories have they been telling you, sweetspark?” 

The blue seeker cuffed Ultraviolet's hands behind her back. “We don't defile. We 'enjoy ourselves',” he explained. “If you choose to take your chances with us, I promise I'll go easy on you, since it's your first time,” he said quietly, setting a second pair of cuffs, these with a stasis generator in them, around her arms.

Lancer was coming around.

“Ah, Lancer. Welcome back. You're looking as lovely as ever.”

“Bastards,” the green femme hissed.

“So what will it be, Lancer?” asked the green mech, crouching beside her with his arm cannon still at the ready.

“You can have me,” she sighed defeatedly. “Better you than that purple monster.”

“Lancer?” Ultraviolet whimpered.

“They offered you the choice?” she asked, her optics full of sorrow.

“They did.”

“Violet, it's yours to make. Elita knows what happens. You can risk Shockwave, or submit to these brutes.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

Acid Storm's hand tightened around Ultraviolet's neck, squeezing the cables and supply lines. It wasn't enough to shut her down, but it was quite enough to be uncomfortable. “I'm glad you chose your freedom,” hummed the seeker sadistically. “We all go home happy, this way.” His other hand gripped her hip fairing and moved her into place.

Nearby, still in the shelter of the underpass, Ion Storm was having his turn with Lancer, the poor femme whimpering quietly with each thrust into her valve.

Acid Storm angled his long, striped spike to nudge at the entrance of her valve. “You are very pretty, you know. Gorgeous even. I'd forgotten how nice you Fornaxian femmes looked. You are Fornaxian, right?”

Ultraviolet nodded as best she could in his grasp. “Of Fornax Major.”

With a quick snap of his hips, Acid Storm sunk his spike halfway into her, Ultraviolet crying out at the penetration.

“Ultraviolet!” Lancer gasped.

“Hush now,” said Ion Storm to his femme. “She chose this.”

The green seeker chuckled in amusement and shifted his grip on Ultraviolet, beginning to thrust into her from his looming position. “Such a pretty little thing. I'm very glad you chose your freedom.” He worked his hips back and forth, making her legs bounce gracelessly with each hard push. But he kept the thrusts shallow, apparently wanting to extend the session as long as possible. “And I get to be your first seeker too. A shame I can't keep you though. You'd make such a lovely little pet. But Shockwave wouldn't allow it, that frigid old freak. He wouldn't know what to do with a femme, or even a mech, even if she were lying in his berth begging him to frag her.”

Ion Storm was fighting not to giggle. “I'm trying to get off here, Acid, and you're not helping.”

“It's true though. Remember that time Shockers got all flustered when we reprogrammed that one drone to start humping the others during inspection?”

The other seeker started laughing. “Dammit Acid! Stop making me laugh.”

“Fine. Fine. I'll shut up now.” His thrusts deepened, and at one point he shoved himself fiercely into her, Ultraviolet bucking and crying as his spike jabbed into her ceiling node with too much pressure to be pleasurable.

Acid Storm grinned sadistically. “Too rough for you? Better get used to it, sweetspark. We seekers are demanding.”

Ultraviolet whimpered, her hands scraping uselessly against the ground beneath her.

He moved his hands to her shoulders for a better grip, and as so he was able to penetrate her harder and deeper. And then the tip of his spike pressed against the entrance to her gestation chamber, the long, thin length sending a jolt of surprise and pain through her comparatively small frame.

“No! Not there!” Ultraviolet cried out.

The spike shoved forward, threatening to push into the chamber beyond. “Not there? Why not?” he teased.

“Please, no! You'll hurt me!” Ultraviolet felt his field swell oppressively against hers.

“I should. I should fill you up with my transfluid and when you get back to your base everyone will know that I made you mine from the bulge in your plating. You'll be dripping for days after. Unless you want a spark-merge too. How would you like to carry for me, pretty thing?”

“No... not that! I'll suck you off. You can overload in my mouth. I'll rub you with my glossa,” Ultraviolet begged.

Acid Storm pulled back and then eased into position again, the slender tip of his spike putting pressure on the entrance to the chamber. Seekers were built with ease of breeding in mind. “I think I prefer my idea, sweetspark.” He shifted his grip again, pressing her hard into the ground at her shoulders, and drew back his hips.

Ultraviolet screamed as he slammed himself forward.

“Ultraviolet!” Lancer cried out, only to be muffled by the blue seeker putting his hand over her mouth and throat.

The entrance oculus to Ultraviolet's gestation chamber was forced open and Acid Storm began overloading right into it. Hot transfluid gushed into her, filling the small space and expanding the chamber as it continued to flow. She wailed and went limp in defeat, a hostage to the coding all mechs and femmes carried. She cried bitterly, hot tears running down her faceplate as Acid Storm continued to pump his load into her, his reservoirs emptying and his hips wriggling in order to empty every last drop he could into her. The calipers in her valve clenched at him, unwittingly helping the process as well.

When it was over, Acid Storm jerked himself out of her and sat back, looking down at the results, and he liked what he saw. Her abdominal plating rose up in a rounded hill, betokening the fluid entrapped within her. Lubricants and a surplus of fluid dripped from between the puffy lips of her valve. Tears wet her face and the ground beneath her head. And then she weakly unshuttered her optics. “Please,” she begged. “Please undo the cuffs.” 

Acid Storm, exhausted himself from the act, could barely manage the chuckle he gave her. Going at it that hard and emptying out a breeding charge easily depleted a mech's stamina. “Not yet, sweetspark. Ion Storm gets a turn with you too before we let you go.”

-o-o-o-o-o-


	16. Ion Storm x Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ordeal isn't over yet. But Ion Storm proves to be a much gentler mech in his treatment of Jazz.

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Open,” said Ion Storm patiently, his hands on either side of Ultraviolet's helm. The tip of his long seeker's spike nudged at her lips.

Ultraviolet opened her mouth and shuttered her optics. The blue mech had liked her pleas to Acid Storm and had decided to let her pleasure him orally.

Ion Storm inserted himself between her lip components and sighed deeply. “Primus you're beautiful. Now close those lips and suck me off.”

Ultraviolet opened her eyes again and looked up at him, hoping the pleading in her optics would come through.

Ion Storm was not moved, or else he took the begging expression as one of begging for the opposite. He began to roll his hips back and forth a tiny amount to work his spike within her oral cavity. Her glossa flopped unhappily against the underside of it. Soon a dribble of transfluid was leaking from the tip of the seeker's long spike, but Ultraviolet was quick to swallow it down.

“Oh... you're wonderful...” Ion Storm crooned. “You must have been a pleasurebot.” Holding her helm tightly, he wormed his way in deeply until eventually her lips were flush against his groinal plating. The tip of his spike was nearly halfway down her neck, wrapped by her esophageal tube. He pulled back, only to press in again, groaning deeply at the wonderful sensations. When he pulled back again, a gush of his transfluid mingled with her oral lubricant followed, fluids that were further diluted by the tears of optic wash running down her faceplate.

“Too deep for you, darling? It's amazing you can take it in that far really.”

Ultraviolet gave a small sob and nodded.

“I'll go easier on you,” he said in an almost caring tone. One of his hands stroked gently at her cheek as he pulled out of her mouth.

Meanwhile Ultraviolet could hear Acid Storm fragging Lancer nearby, the green femme crying out with each thrust into her. The green seeker might have been drained by the first round, but he had found new enthusiasm to use on her.

Ion Storm pushed Ultraviolet back gently until she was resting on her elbows, at which point he knelt between her legs, pulled her hips up, and slid his spike over her open and soiled array, smearing himself with the mess left by his fellow seeker. “This is a gorgeous sight,” Ion storm purred. “My spike on your sloppy valve. I'm going to enjoy this so much.” Taking his length by the base, he moved the tip of it to tease the outer folds. “So gorgeous,” he whispered before pushing his length into her.

Ultraviolet clenched her dentae. At least he was being gentle with her—his touches light and his grip careful. And when he shifted their positions again, it was so that she could sit in his lap while he kissed her faceplate. His lips were affectionate upon her and his gaze nearly reverent. In gratitude, Ultraviolet spread herself a little better for him to enter.

“Is this all right, darling? I'm not hurting you, am I?”

“Not much,” she said, forcing out a few tears. While Acid Storm had done his best to threaten and dominate her, Ion Storm was almost tender in his manner.

He stroked her helm, gazing into her visor. “I do wish that Shockwave would let us keep a lover. I'd take such good care of you,” he promised. “I'd give you half of my rations and polish your frame every day.”

“Just frag the bitch, Ion!” Acid Storm snapped. He'd finished with Lancer already and was wiping himself off. “I swear, you're going soft, or going mad. Possibly both.”

Ion Storm sighed. “Fine. Fine.” He turned his gaze back to Ultraviolet. “I'm sorry. But someone wants me to hurry things up a bit.” He kissed her quickly. “Next time I catch you though, I'll make sure I have more time so I can show you how I really feel about you.”

::That blue one's a sap,:: sent Lancer to Ultraviolet over the comm's. A couple of overloads and he completely forgets he's supposed to be a Decepticon.::

::I see what you mean.::

::Just go with it. It'll be over quicker.::

Ion Storm continued being gentle as he set back to the business of taking his pleasure from the captive Autobot. He was careful not to push into her more than she could tolerate at the moment, and his thrusts were slow and even. When he drew close to his climax, he gave her a shy little smile, his optics locking with hers. “I think I love you, Ultraviolet.”

Acid Storm groaned in disgust and walked away.

Despite herself, Ultraviolet leaned forward and kissed him.

Ion Storm's spike suddenly jerked inside of her and she felt the hot gush of transfluid as the seeker overloaded. “I do love you,” he croaked out as the pleasure overwhelmed him and then knocked him off line. He slumped back, ending up lying on the ground on his back, his optics dim but his face one big smile.

Lancer came over and pulled Ultraviolet off of the unconscious seeker and to her feet. Acid Storm made no move, only watching them from outside of the underpass. “It's over. Let's get out of here,” she said.

-o-o-o-o-o-


End file.
